Intimate Rivals
by Salysha
Summary: Caught in a tournament no one is enjoying, Jin and Hwoarang realize they have entertained misconceptions about each other far too long. Tekken 5. Slash, yaoi, Hwoarang/Jin.
1. Tempers Running High

**Disclaimer**: Tekken and Tekken characters are the property of Namco Limited. This is nonprofit fan fiction.

**Warnings**: This features m/m slash and yaoi, which means that two men are portrayed in a romantic, physical relationship. If that bothers you, skip this story and read something you are comfortable with. This story is rated M.

**Pairings**: Hwoarang/Jin; Kazuya/Lee (implied)

This story will eventually run parallel on AdultFanFiction (AFF), where the interested readers may look for the full-on adult version (NC-17). The chapters that get made into explicit versions will clearly say so. The chapters that feature romance at M rating here (FF) will also be marked. If you are in this for the yaoi... it might take a while to get there.

Welcome to Intimate Rivals.

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This story is dedicated to **Razer Athane** and **Amarant Rose Coral** for interest and support.

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**Intimate Rivals**

by Salysha

**Chapter 1: Tempers Running High**

Jin Kazama woke to a sound that soon found company in more sounds. The travel radio on the bedside table read 1:42. He sighed wearily and rubbed his temples, wondering what had woken him up.

As an answer, more sounds emanated in increasing volume and frequency. Those came from next door: Hwoarang's room. Some were hushed, some were loud, and some were... were those moans? As an answer, a particularly passionate groan passed right through the wall, which was not at all that thin. If anything was good in this place, the walls were decent, which meant that the next-door neighbors had to be making one hell of a noise. The sounds made it painfully obvious what was taking place.

Embarrassment was Jin's first reaction; the second was an intense desire to have Hwoarang and his date shut up and not invade his space like this.

He got up heavily.

"Keep it down. People are sleeping." He gave the wall a couple of slaps and hoped the other side would take a hint.

As on cue, an honest-to-God, orgasmic moan penetrated the wall, and Jin nearly choked. This was past any civil behavior.

"I hear you! Be quiet!"

Jin slammed a fist into the wall for further emphasis, and the other room immediately fell quiet. A moment passed, and then another. A muffled sound came through the wall, and Jin frowned; that hadn't sounded like Hwoarang.

He returned to the bed deeply annoyed and buried himself under the covers, even slamming a pillow over his head for further emphasis. And he stayed that way, and nothing happened. The people in the next room had stopped moaning, although they still were not quiet. Jin, on the other hand, had lost the desire to sleep completely and was now only tired and bothered. This was not working. They were still going at it, and the more they carried on, the more irked Jin grew.

He got up, promptly walked out of the door, and headed for downstairs—anywhere to distance himself from the debauchery next door.

He could have used a snack, so he walked down the corridor and down the steps, missing by two inches the sprawled body of Bryan Fury, who appeared to have passed out on the staircase. He passed the lounge, where Jack-5 was resting—or was it recharging?—and finally reached the kitchen. He was so wrapped up in himself that he didn't even realize there was someone digging into the fridge before he snapped the light on. The other man rose quickly and covered his eyes with his arm.

"Fuck, that's bri— Kazama?"

Jin stopped dead in his tracks. Before him, Hwoarang stood, bare-chested, clad in black sweatpants, shielding his eyes, and holding a jar of something in his hand.

Hwoarang quickly removed his arm and defied the bright light with obvious effort. "You could have warned me. It's not nice to sneak up on people." He resumed fishing something out of the fridge. "Nothing to eat here—can you believe this shit," he said half to himself, half to Jin.

"Hwoarang!"

Hwoarang turned with a frown.

"Yeah, yeah, same one. Keep your hands off this; it's the last one, and I'm not sharing." He put the jar down on the table and, with a suspicious look at Jin, turned back to the fridge.

Jin looked at the jar, which spelled "Salted pickles" on the label. The tournament really had taken a new low if this was the best food in the house. Hwoarang muttered, "Unbelievable," and slammed the fridge shut. He cursed when it bounced back open. _Stupid piece of worthless crap._

"Hwoarang, —"

"I heard you the first time—"

"—what are you doing here?"

"Pretending this is food."

"But you are here..."

Hwoarang frowned. "Do you have brain damage or something?" His frown deepened at Jin's obvious confusion.

"But if you are here—"

"Obviously," 'moron' went unsaid.

"—then you can't be in your room making love."

"What?" Hwoarang's mouth dropped. "WHAT? What the hell are you talking about, Kazama?"

Jin didn't have time to repeat before Hwoarang connected all the pieces. "Are you saying there's someone screwing in my room? In _my _fucking room?"

Jin nodded numbly. Hwoarang looked at him like he had grown a second head, but then seemed to be convinced that this wasn't a joke. The jar on the table barely missed getting swept away when Hwoarang stormed out of the kitchen. Jin hurried after him. Hwoarang stepped on Bryan Fury on the stairs, but Bryan was too far gone and barely grunted. Jin passed him more gingerly and followed Hwoarang, who moved at an admirable speed.

"Wait!" Jin lowered his voice when he realized how loud it sounded. "Wait, you can't just go in there. Knock, at least."

"To hell I can't," Hwoarang hissed back. He reached his door and paused just long enough for Jin to catch up with him. The moment of indecision was rewarded with a pair of gleeful screams from within the room. Hwoarang's mood darkened just a few notches more.

"Who the fuck is it?" He hammered the door. "I'm coming in, so cover yourselves. ONE. TWO. THREE."

Hwoarang turned the knob and barged in, slamming the door behind him, while Jin was left standing in the hallway uncertainly. He was sure everyone in the vicinity had woken up and expected doors to start opening and questions pouring in.

Muffled sounds came through the door, followed by raised voices. Surprisingly, no sounds of movement came from the other rooms. No one had even acknowledged the incident except for Jin, who stood in the hallway, feeling stupid. Unsure what to do with himself, he went back a few rooms and stayed just within sight of his room.

Voices continued to carry from Hwoarang's room. Jin thought he heard Hwoarang's elevated tone, but Jin could not make out what anyone was saying. He heard faint rummaging noises. A couple of minutes passed; then Hwoarang emerged from the room alone, his arms full, and kicked a suitcase out of the door. He balanced his load carefully and pulled the door shut with a slam.

He looked disorientated until he spotted Jin hovering in the distance and kicked the suitcase toward him. "I'm not going back there."

"They would not leave?" Jin asked, confused.

"I don't care if they leave. I'm not going there again." Hwoarang wouldn't even look at him. He was currently jamming the suitcase full of clothes and stuff, on top of toiletries and small articles that had been thrown haphazardly at the bottom.

"I don't understand."

"Look, that room's ruined for me, okay? It would take a fire to burn this whole place down to make it livable again." Hwoarang sounded distressed. He fished out a black t-shirt and pulled it on quickly. Jin couldn't see his complexion that well, but he had the feeling that Hwoarang was flushed.

Jin offered sympathy. "Too much?"

"Too— Yeah, that's it. And in my fucking room." Hwoarang snapped shut the suitcase, which was breaking at the seams. "Any free space around here?"

"You are kidding."

"Do I look like I'm kidding?"

"Sorry. But there's not a free space here. We barely fit in." That was true; the tour arrangements were nothing short of sadistic. The house that had a chronic shortage of food was in the middle of nowhere, and resembled a classic haunted house with odd room arrangements and creepy corridors.

In the basement, where the temperature never exceeded 50, Christie Monteiro had been booked to share a room with Craig Marduk, who wouldn't stop drooling when he heard the news. The panicked Christie had been saved by Julia Chang, and now the girls shared quarters in a distant part of the house.

Nina and Anna Williams had a room each—except theirs were connected by a door that could not be locked from either side. A betting pool was going how long it would take before either was found dead in the morning, but so far they fared free of casualties. Those who had gotten a room had been invariably placed next to their sworn enemies, and thus Bryan Fury, Lei Wulong, and Yoshimitsu occupied adjacent rooms. Jack-5 hadn't been given any kind of space, and after spending one night out and nearly freezing, he took residence in the lounge, making it unbearable for everyone else. Mokujin took root somewhere in the yard.

"I guess I could crash in the lounge. No, wait, Jackass Five is there." There probably wasn't a decent couch left with that thing taking up space, and the idea of closing one's eyes around a Jack's less-than-perfect circuits was never a good option.

"A motel?" Hwoarang spoke to himself. He promptly picked up the suitcase. "There's got to be something around here, right?"

Jin quickly hid his grin at the thought of Hwoarang going into the night dressed as he was. Jin shook his head. "King tried that the first night."

King had been given a nice big room with shining metal surfaces, spacious and clean. Only thing was, the space had been a meat locker taken out of use. He'd gone out to look for any accommodation, and returned hours later empty-handed.

"Not much left for me to do except pass out on the stairs like Fury," Hwoarang said wistfully. He sighed heavily.

Jin felt obliged to offer. "Wait. We can share."

Hwoarang looked up in surprise. "You serious?"

"It is not a problem."

Hwoarang seemed undecided for just a moment and then grinned sheepishly. "That would be great. Thanks."

They went to Jin's room, and Hwoarang turned to look at Jin and the single bed, the only one in the room. He broke the awkwardness before it even started. "How about I camp out on the floor?"

"You don't have to do that..."

"It's fine," Hwoarang dismissed the objection easily. "Anything is good. I just don't want to be stepped on."

"Are you sure?"

"Absolutely." Hwoarang picked a few thick garments from his suitcase before throwing it into a corner and bundled them up for cushioning. Jin was bothered by the meager lodgings, but Hwoarang's repeated assurance left him no choice but to leave the man on his makeshift bed. He did find a spare blanket from the bottom of a closet and gave the extra pillow away before plopping onto the bed.

The other room had gone quiet, and it seemed Jin would be getting his wish for sleep yet. On the floor, Hwoarang made a few shuffling noises before settling down. Jin relaxed and closed his eyes. They lay in silence, and just as Jin was about to fall asleep, Hwoarang spoke quietly.

"Kazama?"

"Mm?"

"Night."

Jin smiled ever so slightly.

**To Be Continued...**

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50 °F is 10 °C.

**Hearty thanks** to **Gypsie** (Gypsie Rose) for proofreading!

**Revised** January 9, 2009.  
**Published** December 18, 2008.


	2. The Red Room

Thank you so much for the welcome on this story! The opening chapter and the frolicky going in Hwoarang's room sparked interest toward the following pairings: Mokujin/anything, Steve/King, and Kazuya/Lee. Alas, the m/m pairings galore is not for this fic. The mystery events will be dealt with, but you might need to wait for a few chapters before anything tangible. Enjoy the story, and let me know if you do.

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**Chapter 2: The Red Room**

Hwoarang woke in the morning while Jin was still fast asleep. He snuck his things in quiet and slipped out to dress in the bathroom, which was tactfully placed in the corridor for everyone to enjoy.

When he returned, Jin was sitting on the bed.

"Hey," Hwoarang greeted as he went to stuff his things away.

"Morning." Jin's eyes caught the rays of sun that danced in through the curtains. The sun was up, and he would rise, too. The thought was not agreeable any more than it was disagreeable, and, belatedly, he wished it would mean something; that the night and the day would matter and shake through this indifference. He didn't register how Hwoarang was regarding him silently.

Two years into this moment, and this wasn't how Hwoarang had imagined their meeting. It should have been in the ring, on the streets, anywhere with their gauntlets on and spirits undaunted. He had thought that time had stood still despite his two years of military service and one tournament and maybe some muscle around the bones for the both of them, but as he looked at Jin, he realized that wasn't true.

What startled him... no, "startle" wasn't the word. The thing he noticed was how tired Kazama looked. _The hell did you do to yourself?_ He hadn't seen it in the dark: hadn't really seen much of Kazama then or cared to look, but now, Hwoarang could trace the listless trail Jin's gaze was taking and see the fatigue. _What happened to you?_ The change since two months ago was staggering.

Then, the events of the night came back to him in a surge of aggravation, and he realized with a touch of embarrassment that he was reading too much into this. That wasn't how they were supposed to meet, and this was getting too weird. It must have been the lack of food that made him see things. Kazama was probably the type that couldn't stand nightly wake-ups; it ruined their whole day if that happened. Hwoarang, on the other hand, wasn't the type who took well someone taking over his room and... sodomizing it to ruin. Speaking of which... "Hey—" As Jin turned, Hwoarang concluded that he had been dreaming; there was nothing wrong with Kazama, and he had been hallucinating, "—thanks for letting me crash."

Jin leaned ahead and stretched his neck. "It was nothing," he said placidly.

"Em... I was testy last night. I—," Hwoarang ran a hand through his hair in embarrassment and tried to find the least humiliating words to apologize. "—I snapped and... This place... it's..."

There was humor in Jin's voice when he replied, "I know. It's bad."

"Yeah, right." Before he even realized it, they'd shared a grin. Hwoarang shook out of it. "Do you mind if I leave my things here? Just until I find a new room."

Jin nodded. "I don't know if you can find anything. It's getting crammed here."

"I'll try, anyway. It can't be that hopeless." Those sounded like the famous last words, but Hwoarang brushed the foreboding aside and bundled his belongings by the wall-side. "Hope that's not in the way. And it's temporary."

"Not at all. It's not a bother. Hwoarang," Jin said as Hwoarang was about to leave, "who was it? Last night."

That stopped Hwoarang in his tracks, though he tried to conceal his reaction. The pause he kept was a fraction too long before he answered quietly, "Don't worry about it. See you later." He inclined his head; Jin automatically responded in kind, and Hwoarang vanished.

_This is getting odd_, Jin concluded as he slapped the blanket tiredly. _Time to face the day and see the tournament started._ That thought sharpened him up; the second-rate arrangements and the fellow competitors' indiscretions were minutiae when the stakes were high and he himself on borrowed time.

* * *

"That's the Red Room!" Lei Wulong said gleefully and chortled in a way that Hwoarang was quickly growing to hate with every cell of his body. He dug into his omelet and wished the violence he inflicted upon it would somehow reflect on the Hong Kong detective, who was laughing so hard his ponytail shook.

"The Red Room," Marshall Law repeated thoughtfully. That caught Hwoarang's attention; to date, he hadn't been sure if Law spoke any language at all. "Hi-yah! Hyah!" was all he'd ever caught, and now it baffled him to hear a perfectly pleasant, thoroughly American voice echo Lei's words before yielding an short chuckle as a favor to an old fellow competitor.

They were at the kitchen, where the groceries had been restocked overnight. To shoot the breeze, Hwoarang had voiced his concerns over his room being converted into an orgy arena, just as he'd left it to go jogging himself. He didn't mention he'd been gone for quite a while, doing a little introspection and training, fending off the sleepless night; that was private, and that was not a cause for anyone to assume he was running a brothel or had given ownership of a decent room—probably the only one in this indecent house—with a nice, big double bed... He stopped at that thought with a visible jerk.

Lei, after he'd rubbed enough salt in Hwoarang's wounds, had regained his composure and seemed quite pleased with himself. "The younger generation doesn't even know about the tradition, do you?"

"No," Hwoarang said shortly.

"I think it started with the second tournament," Lei mused, and his voice took a reminiscent note. Hwoarang stabbed at his omelet violently and waited. "We're pretty secluded here, right? You have the matches, but then the cameras go off, and you're anywhere but home with nothing to do..." Lei proceeded to explain how the players, even when lodging in hotels, tended to bundle up at the same ones. Always, tournament after tournament. And, without too much of a fuss over it, there was always that one extra room booked for whoever wanted it, and that's where the players went to blow off steam, do the nasty, bonk...

"I get it. But my room wasn't extra. It already had an inhabitant: me," Hwoarang said tersely.

"And now it has several." Lee's voice was so friendly, Hwoarang just begged in his head that they'd have a match at one point. Just for Lei, he would show off and kick him across the arena, ponytail and all.

"What happens at the tournament stays at the tournament," Marshall said quietly. He didn't share Lei's laid-back amusement, nor did he seem too keen on the subject, but it was clear he was in the loop.

"Always. And it's always the same ones, too. Twenty years later, nothing's changed. Let me guess. It was—" Abruptly, Lei sobered. "Know what? It's not important. What do I know," he said lightly.

Jin Kazama had entered the room. He didn't miss a beat to absorb the silence and deduce his arrival as the cause.

"Did I interrupt something?" Jin's voice was glacial, and he looked around, night-like eyes blazing from behind the dark bangs. There wasn't a trace of tiredness in his being.

"Nothing important," Lei said, and this time, his voice conveyed forced friendliness, which met a cold, forbidding wall that was Jin. He nodded to Hwoarang. "You should find a new place." He excused himself with a light bow and left with Marshall.

Jin's eyes traced their step sharply without a word. Deceitful cowards had been talking about him behind his back; did they take him for an idiot? Jin himself was surprised at the ire he felt: one that bubbled overwhelmingly. As he exhaled, it felt as though his breath caught a raspy tone. At the same time, he knew he was overreacting, and belatedly become aware that Hwoarang remained in the room.

"Jin. They weren't talking about you."

The agreeable tone was so alien that Jin just stared at Hwoarang, and the harsh look didn't abate from his face. Hwoarang wasn't put off.

"Hell, I don't know what the fuck they were talking about. Some shit about tournament traditions..." Hwoarang caught in himself in a nick of time. He was slipping into cursing every second word again, and it was beginning to grate on him. He hadn't been around people for too long, couldn't find the words. Assembling an AK-47 in ten seconds, that was another matter... He had to put his mind elsewhere; he couldn't think of that now. He rubbed at his forehead.

"It didn't seem like that to me."

"Who knows what Lei's problem is? He's from Hong Kong...," Hwoarang said and shot Jin a look.

"An excuse," Jin said, but he flashed a look of amusement, and his posture relaxed.

"Maybe." Hwoarang nodded. "They've new food here. Definition of 'food' debatable."

Jin scanned the cabinets and even the fridge. "No rice?"

"No."

Their eyes met briefly, and Jin was the one to say it this time, "This place is—"

"Bad. I know." They couldn't resist exchanging grins this time. Hwoarang rose and discarded his plate and the food that had gone cold. He nodded sideways. "The cereal should be people-food."

Jin cast a skeptical look at the package, but took it then with a sigh. He was used to the Western menu. He replied with a noncommittal utterance to Hwoarang's parting words that he'd go look for a place to stay and settled by himself in the empty kitchen.

* * *

Hwoarang was practicing with a heavy bag at the gym, when a voice sounded from his side.

"Nice punch, but the kicks need work."

He detached from the practice easily and faced the grinning blasphemer. "Steve Fox," he remarked and bowed.

"You know I'm no good with that."

"What's so hard about it?" Hwoarang reproached, but he pulled off his gauntlet, and they exchanged strong handshakes. "Steve."

"Hwoarang. Good to see you."

"My kicks need work? How about yours; learned any yet?" Hwoarang said as he fastened his glove back on. He didn't bother to disguise his smirk.

"Har har." Steve ignored the follow up-question, "Any at all?" and watched as Hwoarang launched lazy kicks at the bag, which quivered at the impact. He managed to put on one glove in record time, but struggled with the second one.

"Need help with that?"

"No, I don't need help. The damn wrap's gotten all weird," Steve said under his breath and pulled his hand back out. He straightened the entangled hand wrap, retied it carefully, and launched for another try. It was these damn sparring gloves; he'd been punching the bag for a couple months now, and it was always a different set of rules with the gear.

"I'll help." Hwoarang steadied the bag and turned to him. "Princess."

Steve's flush showed all too easily on his pale skin. "It's the gloves...," he said wanly before stretching out his hand in resignation.

Hwoarang examined the fasteners. "Damn, this _is_ weird..."

The mumble warmed Steve inside just a bit. "So, where are you staying? Get a decent room?" he asked to shoot the breeze.

"Working on that...," Hwoarang muttered. "Fox, the hell kind of—"

"The red one. Told you these were weird."

"You can say that... No, had problems with the room. Looking for a new one."

"I'd offer, but mine's not that roomy. But if you need...?"

"No, no. Thanks. I'll find something... There!" Hwoarang said triumphantly. "How's that?"

Steve felt the gloves. "Perfect. Thanks." He threw an experimental punch at the bag Hwoarang had been abusing and his eyes widened. "What kind of a sordid bag is this?" He tapped the side, and the leaden bag responded by staying motionless.

"Custom-made. You like?"

"That's... just not right," Steve said with a shake of his head.

"Too much for you?" Hwoarang asked with a sideways glance.

"Ha." Steve concentrated for a barely perceptible time and landed a hook with knockout power so impressive that Hwoarang automatically took a step back. As the bag flung back toward him, he demonstrated a kick of his own, sending the bag right at Steve. Steve sidestepped the blow almost impossibly. When the bag flung back, they stopped it together; Hwoarang on one side, Steve on the other. They looked at each other: Hwoarang's leg was reaching for the sky, and Steve had a fist on the bag. Grins formed on their faces.

"A spar?" Hwoarang asked. He remained still, showing no strain despite the taxing stance.

"You bet."

Simultaneously, they released the bag and pounded their knuckles together.

* * *

"That was a nasty hook." Hwoarang's words were muffled by the running water and directed to the wall, but Steve made them out fine. The other option was that Hwoarang had just said, "You suck."

"Uppercut."

"Wha—" Hwoarang sneezed and sent drops of blood flying on the tiles.

Steve winced at the mess, but he couldn't help himself. "Uppercut, not hook. They don't even look the same."

The next words Steve didn't care to hear. Eventually, Hwoarang straightened up and held his nose to the rags, which were turning varying shades of pink and crimson. "_Goddamm dose_."

"Shouldn't you hold your head upward?" Steve tried, but that earned such an appalled look from Hwoarang he wanted to sink through the ground. Hwoarang even removed the rags to get his message through.

"You don't know a goddamn thing. I don't want that shit running in my pipes. Oh, for Chriss—" Hwoarang brought the stained towel back on his face and tried not to get mad. Cold water and soaked rags didn't stop the nosebleed, the rags didn't contain it; what next? Should he calm down and wait it out? Ludicrous. Eventually, as the men stood glaring each other, the bleeding did stop. Hwoarang tossed the rags away and tapped his nose with some fresh paper. He found only few traces of blood and, satisfied with the result, declared the emergency over. "It was a good punch."

"Cheers," Steve said. He did feel slightly guilty, though. He was lucky for a boxer to have nosebleeds next to never, and he hadn't expected to deal damage onto others. "Uppercut."

"They feel the same," Hwoarang said. He didn't sound too mad, as he first bent down and immediately pulled back up again, bending his knees instead and wiping the droplets off with a towel. When finished, he pulled back up again and raised a brow at Steve. "And am I supposed to know what they are called? Name even one of my moves."

Steve drew a blank, and Hwoarang demonstrated a kick. "Name this. Or this." He tried another one, a distinctly different one that went high up.

"A kick. Another kick."

"You suck," Hwoarang said blithely.

"I know. Sorry." Steve's tone was equally jovial.

"You couldn't even aim at somewhere less important, like internal organs? You had to go for the nose."

"Pretty boy."

"Princess." Hwoarang slapped him hard on the back and gave him a quick grin. "Until next? I gotta clean this up."

Steve agreed, and they wished each other good luck with the tournament. Just as Hwoarang had bid his goodbye, Steve called to him. "Hey."

"Hmm?"

"What are they called? The moves you showed?" As Hwoarang exited the room, Steve heard his response and grinned despite himself. They were "kicks."

* * *

After unwinding with a spar, which had been rudely interrupted by a knock on the nose, Hwoarang set out to find a place to stay. He found nothing: every corner in building complex was occupied right down to the proverbial hole in the ground, which was Mokujin's. Not everyone had arrived yet; there had to be more competitors than he saw in the area. Some rooms were empty but reserved, but Hwoarang got the feeling that some fighters had simply been placed elsewhere, or they had decided to pay up and find their own accommodation.

At the end of the day, Hwoarang found himself back at Jin's room and accepting his invitation to stay. They argued about the bed, but Hwoarang was adamant that the floor was his. He felt uncomfortable enough to be accepting the hospitality as-was, even if Jin was nothing short of gracious and they both in decidedly better humor than the night before. It still felt like he was breaking the unwritten rules by bunking with Kazama and crowding his space like this, but since he didn't seem to mind, Hwoarang decided he shouldn't, either.

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**Huge thanks** to **Gypsie **for the proofreading!

**Published** January 9, 2009.


	3. Waking Nightmares

Readers and reviewers, thank you so much! On we go.

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**Chapter 3: Waking Nightmares**

Participating in a King of Iron Fist Tournament was an emotional seesaw: the ups and downs were inevitable, and, right now, life was on the down for Hwoarang.

He pressed his soap-slicked hands into his face and scrubbed. He turned the water on again, fumbled the soap back into his hands, growing more infuriated with each missed attempt to find the rack and grasp the slick soap, and scoured his face with the soap bar directly. He was tainted for life.

"Everything all right?" a familiar, low voice sounded from his side. Jin had taken the next shower stall and now eyed Hwoarang in bemusement.

A renewed jolt of aggravation ran through Hwoarang instantly, though not at the question or even Jin being there. It was this infernal house and its diabolic inhabitants. A common shower room with short walls for stalls fit the bill perfectly, though, strictly speaking, it should have been a garden hose in the yard.

It didn't matter. He wouldn't be cleansed, ever. Hwoarang cast the soap bar aside and brought his hands to his face, rinsing it vigorously. To Jin, he said, "Marshall Law sat on my face."

"What?"

Hwoarang wiped his brow and cast Jin a dark look. At the back of his mind, he acknowledged that the uncharacteristic, wide-eyed look on Jin's face and the exclamation could have been amusing. Sparking a reaction that equaled to a hysteric, open-mouthed shock in anyone else would have been hilarious in an alternate universe where he was joking. "You heard it," he snarled.

"How?"

"We sparred. And the sonovabitch—" Hwoarang couldn't finish the sentence. He swerved back to the shower and had another round of violent soaping. Impure and tainted for life: those were the defining words of his existence, only notches stronger than the violent dislike he was growing toward the other competitors.

Jin hovered in uncertainty for a moment, but he chose not to comment further. Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed Marshall Law leaving the shower room with a wolfish non-grin on his face, and, with a sidelong glance toward the other stall, was very glad Hwoarang seemed to have missed it. Jin set about to wash himself.

Just then, the door opened, and a bright voice chirped, "Panda? Are you here? ... _Oooh, Jin!_"

"Xiao!" Instantly, Jin brought his hands to cover his privates and jumped back. The short wall hardly concealed the fact that he was fully naked, even when he managed to shield his crotch, and his humiliation deepened when Xiaoyu remained in place, gaping at him between startled and transfixed, not trying to look, but not comprehending not to.

Something snapped. "Get the FUCK OUT, woman! This is the men's shower!" Hwoarang stepped out and bellowed at Xiaoyu without bothering to cover himself in any way.

Xiaoyu gave a yelp when she realized Hwoarang was giving her a full, unabashed view. Her eyes darted up, only to meet daggers, and that's when she lost any direction of where it was safe to look. The straining of her cheek muscles told she was about to blush furiously.

Ling Xiaoyu turned around and fled.

The scene cooled, and they were left alone. Jin detached his hands gingerly and went to his shower with a bit of a gulp and suck of his lower lip and a careful look to his side. Hwoarang tried to control the heavy breathing the adrenaline rush had induced. He respired heavily to calm his racing pulse, slow down its pace, and give himself time to cool down before stepping back into the wretched stall a little shakily.

It was suddenly so silent. Hwoarang turned the shower on numbly and stepped under the stream as though in a dream. He leaned forward and let the flow travel down his shoulder blades and wet the back of his head.

From his position, Jin cast him a sidelong glance—a strictly appropriate one to eye level—and said conversationally, gently almost, "You didn't need to do that."

_No._ Hwoarang leaned forward until his forehead rested against the clammy tiles. He didn't need to do that, and he shouldn't have done that. He was painfully aware of how Jin was regarding him, and it bothered him to think what was going through the Japanese's mind—the disappointment must have been there—and it left him feeling defeated. While the notion was insane, he couldn't subdue it.

His forehead was growing cold, and an imprint was forming onto it from the edges of the tiles. A nasty pounding in his head was on its way from the cold. Hwoarang pulled himself upright, letting the warm water soothe away the chill and detach the bangs that had locked unpleasantly against the skin of his forehead. He turned the shower off. "No," he said quietly, as he grabbed a towel and left. He didn't look back, and he missed the concerned look Jin gave after him.

* * *

In a tournament that must have been put together by the devil himself, it took Jin and Hwoarang roughly three days to decide that, despite all the catastrophes laid in their paths, sharing a room was the best thing that had happened to either of them.

They didn't talk much, but the silence wasn't awkward. They hadn't expected much from each other, and the sense of freemasonry surprised them both. It was... nice to have someone there and not be so alone all of the time. They didn't say so much, of course: it wasn't part of the code. But, silently, in a way, having company wasn't as bad.

Hwoarang kept his things in order with almost military precision. Jin wanted to ask about that. Jin had assumed Hwoarang would be a messy and boisterous roommate, an irritant to the nerves. He had never expected him to be so equable, even quiet, when it was just the two of them. His sense of humor, the few times is surfaced, was delightfully dry. Jin couldn't shake off the impression that something was distracting the Korean, but as it was, Hwoarang kept to himself and made for a pleasant roomie.

Hwoarang, then, had his rival of two years at his hand's grasp—and he was doing nothing about it. Hwoarang hadn't had the chance to see if before, but outside the ring, Jin Kazama wasn't disagreeable. He had a quiet, unassuming manner to him, which Hwoarang found strangely disarming. The challenge between them remained unchanged, but it didn't take precedence.

The one thing that disrupted the peace was the matter of the neighboring room. After the initial scare, the Red Room had returned to full action. On a couple of nights, the noises came through the walls and embarrassed them. The first night, Jin and Hwoarang pretended on a mutual, unspoken agreement that they didn't exist and slammed the wall for a warning.

Now was the second night. Jin was uncomfortable and mortified and rolled on the bed; on the floor, Hwoarang tried not to listen but, as the noises carried on, he got up brusquely and left. Jin never said a word about the abrupt departure as Hwoarang returned; he didn't need to.

To top it off, another happy scream forced its way through the wall. Jin could almost envision Hwoarang's eyes flash right before the Korean jumped at the wall and buried his foot in it. "Shut the fuck UP!"

Jin could hear the strain in his voice, and though he mentally grimaced at the poor, abused wall, all he muttered was, "About time," before turning his back and burying himself under the covers.

Out of habit, Hwoarang gave the buried figure a hard look, but the remark didn't set him off; though he thought he didn't want to hear a peep from anyone, Jin's comment passed right through his filter. Instead, he glowered at the wall, daring the occupants in the next room to keep it up, before he dropped on the floor and settled down himself.

* * *

"Kazama. Wake up," Hwoarang tried for the umpteenth time, but his words had no effect. He finally reached out and laid a hand on Jin's arm, shaking him. "Jin. Wake up."

Jin finally awoke. "Hm?" he muttered, not too conscious of the world around him.

"Hey, wake up. You were having a bad dream."

Taking the time to adjust mentally, Jin turned around to find Hwoarang looking at him, resting a warm hand on his arm, squeezing it lightly. Jin noticed the hand belatedly, but Hwoarang withdrew only as Jin reached for his face and felt the dampness there. How was he sweating so badly? He took everything in sluggishly, as still in a dream, and couldn't quite understand the look Hwoarang was giving him. "I'm sorry. I woke you..."

Hwoarang shook his head, though the motion drowned in the darkness. "Don't worry about it."

Jin finally woke enough to rise to his elbows and take the situation in. He was lying on the bed, entangled in the sheets. Hwoarang was standing by the bedside, crouching a little, obviously woken from sleep just as he was, though he didn't seem bothered by it.

"Hey. Let me just get back to sleep, and you do the same." Hwoarang straightened up, and his back gave a cracking sound.

"That floor's not good for you."

"It's nothing. It's fine," Hwoarang dismissed the notion and prepared to lie down on his makeshift bed.

"Hwoarang?"

"Yeah?"

"Would you... stay here? Share with me?" Jin bit his lip. He didn't understand why it was so important now, from where the urgency crept to his voice, but the words found their way out, even when he tried to hold them back. He was embarrassing himself, but surprisingly, Hwoarang didn't jeer.

"Don't worry about it. This is fine." He didn't sound angry or upset.

"No, I mean it. If— if you don't mind..."

Hwoarang was quiet for a moment. His dark silhouette stood motionless and blended in with the shadows dancing in the room. "Sure. I don't mind," he said softly. He grabbed his pillow and blanket from the floor. Jin scooted over as best as he could and released the covers, still anxious about his request and a little surprised Hwoarang had accepted.

Hwoarang steeled himself. He lay down carefully and experienced first-hand how the bed wasn't made to fit them both easily. He turned on his side, away from Jin, but the position felt awkward and... unnatural. He sucked his lips just a little, unsure with what to do with this newfound sense of intimacy. He could feel Kazama right behind him, even when they weren't touching. He could sense the presence, knew Jin's ass was inches from his with a clarity that embarrassed him, even when neither of them moved.

He wished the warmth from his blanket would kick in soon; he had been a little cold on the floor. He remembered the coldness of Jin's skin and realized he wasn't the only one feeling chilly. "Hey, would you mind—?" he started and then realized how much they tiptoed around each other. What was he suddenly so faint-hearted about? He turned onto his other side and found himself gazing into Jin's profile. "Turn on your side," he said and lightly pushed Jin in the right direction.

Jin looked at him quizzically, but he slowly turned his back on him and faced the wall, getting himself in a comfortable position. Hwoarang, barely daring to think what he was doing, scooted over until he nearly pressed against him. He flung his own blanket over the both of them and pried some of Jin's on himself. Hwoarang then pulled some of the covers between them, building a barrier.

"Look... think nothing of it," Hwoarang said before spooning Jin fully and flinging an arm across his chest. He held his breath, as Jin tensed at the full-body impact. He managed to wait for the reaction wordlessly, even though his chest pounded incessantly. _Faint-hearted_, he reproached himself. He wasn't doing anything worth fretting about, so why the cold feet? They continued not to speak, as Jin slowly relaxed into the full-body contact. "Do you mind?" Hwoarang's voice was a whisper.

"No..."

"It's not making you uncomfortable, is it?"

"No." It was a white lie; it was a new sensation, but Jin reveled in the feel. "It's nice," he admitted. It felt comforting, personal. Intimate, almost.

"Good." Hwoarang burrowed closer, giving Jin a quick squeeze. "Go to sleep."

Jin was too tired to answer back and he sank into oblivion again. Hwoarang held him, amazed at himself at what he was doing, all the while knowing he was doing the right thing. He was now wide awake, although his heart was no longer racing as badly and the audible, deep breathing from the bundle in his arms soothed him as well. He wasn't sure how orthodox it was to go... cuddling with your rival, but...

At least Jin had stopped crying.

Jin's nightmare had woken him up. Kazama had been trashing around, speaking in his dream. Hwoarang had tried not to pay too much attention to it. Everyone had a bad dream once in a while, and it was all right. It was personal, and it didn't need anyone interfering. Jin had sounded distressed, though, and he had wondered if he should try to rouse him from it. It was when he had heard the first sob that he knew he had to do something.

For a moment, he had played with the thought that maybe Jin was awake and had forgotten he was there, too, and he should leave Jin be and turn a blind eye. The weakness had passed, and Hwoarang had known he could not walk away from it, in mind or body. He would not shame himself thusly... A jolt of pain had stabbed him at the thought. Baek had spoken about shame in almost identical words many years ago. Even in the dark, Hwoarang had quickly blinked his eyes dry. It didn't matter.

As he had risen carefully, he had realized that Jin was asleep and set to rouse him. Had Jin woken up on his own accord, he would have just pretended he hadn't noticed a thing, but, from the way Kazama acted once awake, he was shaken and not quite conscious. Hwoarang wasn't sure if he even realized that he had been crying, and that didn't matter. What mattered was that they were lying closely now and the pain had subsided.

"...M?"

"Sorry." He had tensed and accidentally squeezed Jin with his arm. "Go to sleep," he murmured. He snuggled a little closer still and closed his eyes.

* * *

**Hearty thanks** to **Gypsie** for the proofreading!

**Published** February 27, 2009.


	4. Mokujin

I treasure all the support and interest shown toward the story. It has been amazing—thank you so much! Sit tight—yaoi needs shall be served later. Those who join in later, when there are already several chapters to plough through: don't hesitate to comment midway.

* * *

**Chapter 4: Mokujin**

It was morning when Jin stirred. He woke to find himself propped up on his side, squeezed comfortably between the mattress and the wall, warm and snug. As he opened his eyes, he found Hwoarang lying next to him on his stomach, one arm resting over the bedside and one leg precariously close to follow suit. He faced the other way, sound asleep.

Jin amended his posture a little, careful not to disturb the sleeping man. They weren't touching, but the bed contained them both only with effort, and Hwoarang was close to falling off. A surge of mischief tempted Jin, as he pictured what just the slightest nudge would do. A small smile ensued upon the visual, but the thought, he instantly quelled; impish malice had no excuse. Still, when had he last felt playful?

Watching the Korean who professed to be his rival brought the prior developments to Jin's mind, and he was reminded of Hwoarang's kindness. He had had a nightmare and woken Hwoarang, and yet, Hwoarang had shared a bed with him, and more. Hwoarang was still sharing a bed with him. Thinking about the gesture threatened to break Jin's calm: the spell would be broken once Hwoarang would wake up, and they'd slip from comfort to new planes of awkwardness. At least he owed it to Hwoarang not to disturb his rest yet and not try to get up.

"Jin?"

He had woken Hwoarang after all—fidgeted him awake. Resigned, Jin knew it was time to pay the piper. "Yes?" he breathed.

Hwoarang moved and propped himself up a little. He lifted his outstretched arm in an effort to wake it and stretched his lithe form. Jin remained immobile to give him some personal space, but Hwoarang soon gathered himself together and lifted himself up to look at Jin. "Morning."

_Morning?_ "Morning."

"You should've just hopped over or woken me." Propped up on his elbows, Hwoarang hung his head down with a yawn.

"I just woke myself," was all Jin could bring himself to say.

"Sleep okay?"

"Yeah."

"Good." With another yawn, Hwoarang picked himself up and rose, sitting on the bedside, soon to rise to his feet. Jin watched in confusion as Hwoarang went to his luggage as any other morning to find his things for the day. He had thought he there was an issue where there was none; Hwoarang was remarkably unfazed by waking in the same bed as he. In fact, he was nothing short of friendly. Relief washed over Jin, just as concealed by his outward serenity as the other movements of his mind. Jin pulled himself sitting up on the bed and leaned against the headboard. He bent his feet up and leaned against them. He would rise soon, too. The thought was not entirely unpleasant; he felt prepared to accept the day, come what may.

Hwoarang, for his part, had found his clothes and toiletries and was prepared to see himself to the bathroom in the corridor to get dressed, just as he did every day. He paused to that thought; was it time to stop being so prudish? "Hey, do you mind if I change here?"

Jin looked up from the bed—a little surprised, it seemed—but he shook his head. "No, not at all. Go ahead." He faced the other way and left Hwoarang shuffling with his clothes.

Jin thought it was safe to turn when he heard the belt buckle clash, but he turned too soon and caught a flash of Hwoarang's bare ass; the redhead had merely been straightening the pants and dusting the denim off. Jin quickly turned away, red-faced.

Hwoarang finished getting dressed and okayed Jin's turning, frowning a little when Jin seemed ill at ease. Maybe he was crossing lines, after all, and Kazama preferred the polite detachment over doing roomie things. Then again, he was reading much too much into every single move either of them made. As soon as he'd woken up and realized where he was and how and whom with, he had realized things could get awkward, especially if Kazama got defensive, and had decided he had no reason to fret. Nothing was awkward unless he made it so himself; Kazama wasn't one to cause trouble.

_Too many damn thoughts, too early. Nothing useful._ In the end, Hwoarang simply gathered his gear for the day. "See you later," he said and let himself out. Jin was left alone, still unsure of everything, but then he caught the big picture: Hwoarang had stayed with him through the night and been nice upon waking up. In all his being, he had shown nothing was out of order. They were okay. Jin couldn't help a smile—one rarely seen on his face until of late—play on his lips briefly.

* * *

The fight was on, and the crowd was going wild. Hwoarang had joined them and was leaning on a wooden beam, eyes fixated on the arena. Jin was fighting Julia Chang. His gaze swept over Julia: a good rack, a nice pair on her, a great ass...

Not very interesting.

But then there was Kazama. Every move precise, controlled, exuding power. Dangerous to the bone, and out to win. Holding back so much, it was almost painful. It wasn't the girl's fault; she did what she could, and she landed good moves on him. She read the game and varied her attacks, but Jin blocked her unwaveringly, waiting for his moment. The attacks might as well have landed on a brick wall; they barely shook him, but they tired the opponent. Hwoarang could understand why Kazama didn't finish it through aggression; it was still a she, in the tournament of her own will and skilled just the same or not, and she was still much more fragile than he...

Not all had similar ideas. Some fighters got off on a sadistic pleasure for damaging anything in their way—man, woman, animal, or animated being—but Kazama was one of the decent ones, looking for a gentle way to end it when brutal strength wasn't needed. It was still early on in the tournament, and they weren't tired; they could still afford the path of some resistance.

Julia landed a strike, and Jin's head snapped back. The hood of his sweatsuit fell off, as did the chivalry. Jin launched into a series of moves, so close in tow they almost blurred into one fluid movement, and Julia was forced to back down across almost half the arena.

Hwoarang frowned. Those moves... Was he losing his mind? He stared at Jin intently. No, he was sure of it. That wasn't the Jin Kazama he had fought and tied with. Somewhere down the line, Kazama had changed his style. The observation rattled him; how had he not known? Fascinated now, he observed the fight that would end any second. He couldn't take his eyes off it. He was so keen on studying Kazama, he almost missed someone taking a place by his side.

"He is good, isn't he?" a voice came, and Hwoarang found Ling Xiaoyu looking at him sullenly.

"He is," Hwoarang said neutrally, but he gave Xiaoyu an almost friendly glance. He knew he should apologize to her, even if the day before had been her own damn fault. An actual apology was out of the question, but there were other ways to make amends. "Did you find the bear?"

"_Panda!_"

"Well, did you?"

Xiaoyu frowned. Was he being sincere or just being a prick? She couldn't tell... But when Hwoarang looked at her like he really wanted to know, she said, "Yes."

"Good." Hwoarang nodded and turned to the arena just in time to see Kazama pull himself stock-still, only to deliver a vicious blow that sent Julia flying backward. "You have matches already?"

"No! ...What?"

Hwoarang sighed inwardly. So much for being nice. "When do your games start?"

"Oh... tomorrow." Xiao verged on indecision, but then she asked, "And yours?"

"Tonight."

The match ended in a knockout, and the paramedics were already rushing ahead with a stretcher. The winner, forgotten, faded to black and wished for a getaway.

Hwoarang saw Jin turn his head to his side and say something; he wondered what. The on-site screens revealed little, and the subtitles were only available for the home audience. Hwoarang turned his attentions back to the present. "Good luck," Hwoarang said, startling Xiaoyu, who then responded in kind with a timid of smile tugging at her lips. He had a match of his own to prepare for. Xiao followed suit, as he left with a last look thrown in the distance.

At the arena, cameras were turned off, and the paramedics left with Julia. "Forgive me," Jin repeated in a low, pained voice. "I had no choice." Solitary now, he turned to look at the audience, but he couldn't see anything except for a faceless mass. He had thought someone particular had been watching him, but there was no one there. Shuffling his feet heavily, Jin turned to leave.

* * *

_Time to play the game._

The flow of adrenaline had been building steadily through the day, and it culminated to this moment, ready to burst out in the open any time. The anticipation of the fight was a stimulant so powerful, Hwoarang felt like he was counting heartbeats now, burning to cut the edge of the rush he knew he had yearned for.

Hwoarang cracked his knuckles and fought to keep his emotions at bay. Before him, his opponent stood still and waited: Mokujin. _Another "Jin" there..._ Hwoarang scraped the thought and made himself focus. He had gotten the tree.

That was no reason to get comfortable. On the contrary: Mokujin was the dark horse. The tree remained immobile, dead wood, but the outset of the battle was going to reanimate it. Whose style was it going to emulate? Hwoarang adjusted his gear and waited, measuring his opponent with his eyes.

The ring of the bell cut the torturous wait. It was time. Hwoarang demonstrated a punch and bowed at his opponent, a stern look on his face. He took a fighting stance.

Mokujin sprung to life. It punched in show and, with a swoosh, launched two successive kicks high up in the air, before mimicking Hwoarang and landing in a stance.

Hwoarang's jaw dropped. Those looked like taekwondo kicks, not unlike the ones he had demonstrated on Steve Fox only days earlier. The tree was _him_! He couldn't be positive, but then the game commenced. In his stupefaction, he let his guard down, and Mokujin made for an offensive. As a strike of iron hit Hwoarang in the face, he realized with horror that it was taekwondo, but it wasn't his...

* * *

Hwoarang paced back and forth in the garden. The night had descended, and it engulfed him willingly, just as he embraced the darkness. He'd lost it; he'd lost it; he'd...

Hwoarang stopped mid-strife and swayed on his feet. His hand shook like a leaf when he brought it to his mouth and stifled a sob. He wouldn't lose it; he wasn't going to break... His heart pounded like crazy, loud as the sound of blood rushing to his ears, and the tightness in his chest threatened to choke him. His eyes stung with saltiness, but he wasn't going to lose it; he wasn't going to cry...

The garden was dank, but it was dark and he was solitary: that was all that mattered. No one was there; no one would come here and find him like this. The ragged breaths threatened to overtake Hwoarang again, but he forced himself to stay lucid. He was hyperventilating. He had to calm down; he had to go inside sometime. Nothing was wrong, as long as long as he didn't show it; no one would know... They hadn't kicked him out; he was still in... The judges had ruled in his favor; he had been let off with a warning... He would be fine, if he didn't lose it now.

His breathing calmed eventually, but the salty sting refused to leave his eyes. He tried to blink them clear. This wasn't going to break him.

He had kept it under control for two years: he hadn't allowed himself to think about it, hadn't said a word, and hadn't once shown that something was amiss until today, when that thing had attacked him.

_Baek Doo San._ Hwoarang couldn't bring himself to say his name out loud, but his breathing cracked with emotion. Baek was long gone, and that _piece of shit_ dared pose as him?

The episode was a blur: he remembered from the fight that horrible moment when he had realized he was fighting a being that had robbed his master's identity and desecrated his memory. He had flashbacks of sitting on top of that thing, pounding its wooden face incessantly, hit after hit, heedless of the damage he was inflicting upon himself; the bell had sounded, and there had been screams that had told him to stop, or so he assumed; there had been several pairs of hands that had finally pulled him off, and he had fought against them vehemently before being overpowered and forced down.

There had been a meeting afterward, where they had decided what to do with him. He hadn't understood much of it, and he remembered even less of it now. Had his opponent been a human, they would have had to react and take him off for violent conduct. Even the King of Iron Fist Tournament had rules. As it was, they had dragged the wooden dummy off the arena and shrugged it off with a slap on the wrist. They had called it "entertainment value" and deemed it high. That comment had broken through the haze, and it still stung.

As Hwoarang mastered his breathing again, he became aware of his injuries. His hands... Dread crept into his mind. The dried blood on his knuckles, still scratching against the gauntlets with each little move, made his hands tremble, and a spasm of pain ran through his arms, intent on traveling to his heart and bringing it more ache. He hoped he hadn't fractured anything, that he had only bruised and chafed them, and it was the fatigue that now intensified a normal ache to almost unbearable agony. He wouldn't be able to continue if he had damaged something this early on.

Thinking about fighting brought the original pain back, and he struggled with himself. He had controlled himself for two years, accepted without a word the loss he couldn't change, but the dam was threatening to break. The more he tried to suppress the overpowering emotion, the stronger it grew. He had to get his mind elsewhere.

He lunged a full-force kick at the tree he had been standing under.

It worked. Next thing he knew, his ankle was on fire and his foot radiated agony. _God, it hurt_! His breathing hitched, and he could barely keep on his feet. His entire leg emanated the kind of pain that took everything else off his mind and made the distress melt to nothingness. The leg refused to support his weight or cooperate, and he wavered on the other one.

"Why did you do that?" a quiet voice came behind him.

The voice and the arrival of its owner were like a dagger in Hwoarang's heart. _Not you. Not this. Not you, when I'm like this._ If he just kept his back turned, maybe Jin would go away and leave him alone. That was the fantasy world; this was the real one, and he had to speak up. "The fuck are you doing here?" Hwoarang hated the tearful tone he wasn't able to mask in full.

"I was looking for you."

"Why?"

"I was worried."

Jin said the words simply, neutrally, without accusation, and that drained the last of the hostile energy Hwoarang was desperate to hold onto to keep it together. Maybe he could yell at Jin and make him leave, pick a fight and be left alone, but he doubted that would work. Nothing was working for him. "Go away," he muttered.

A more acute pain wrested his attention. He might as well give up the pretense. Hwoarang dumped himself on his rear on the cold, damp ground and pulled his knees up, resting against them heavily, hoping a more comfortable position would allow him to ignore the nasty twinges. He looked at the ground straight ahead, but out of the corner of his eye, he saw the blue pants invade his line of sight and a glimpse of gold shine through the dark. Jin sat down a little distance from him and pulled his feet up, resting his arms on his knees. "What are you doing?"

"Keeping you company."

"I don't need any."

"Maybe I need some."

Hwoarang felt like laughing hysterically. This was too absurd. The impulse to laugh madly died, and, defeated, he hung his head down. Maybe if he waited long enough, Jin would vanish, and he would wake up to discover that this had been a vivid nightmare.

The night was still, as were they. Chill had begun to creep to his bones when Hwoarang finally raised his head – and found Jin beside him, wordlessly looking somewhere past him. The dark eyes flashed at him and met his briefly before Jin averted his gaze and studied the tree.

"Why?"

"Why what?"

Hwoarang was tired. "—are you here?"

Jin's lip twitched as to a private joke, however a grotesque mockery of Hwoarang's misery, but all he said in that mesmeric voice of his was, "Wouldn't you be?"

_Mind games._ Kazama was playing some sort of mind games with him, and he wasn't up to them. His head pounded, and he was sore all over. And... "Shit," Hwoarang choked and grabbed his ankle. It had been burning steadily, but now the twinges were coming in waves. He felt sick. He pressed onto the side of the ankle hard and willed himself to wait it out. As he opened his eyes, he found Jin crouching in front of him, supporting himself on one knee, leaning forward. Now, his expression was definitely worried.

"Let me help. Please."

Hwoarang didn't even know what to reply to that. Jin waited for him to give sanction, but when none came, he simply took Hwoarang's foot in his hands and straightened his leg. Hwoarang hissed, but he was too tired to push Jin off.

"I'm just going to take a look."

Hwoarang wanted to scream bloody murder, but Jin ignored him and removed his shoe and sock despite the protests. Hwoarang sank onto the ground on his back; could this get any more humiliating? Jin Kazama inspecting his fight-soaked, filthy foot, while he couldn't find the strength to fight back? His self-made purgatory was crossing all the lines.

Jin was examining the ankle, seemingly unaffected by its state of unwash. He pressed a thumb into the sole of the foot and ran it across the sole's length.

"Wrong place."

Jin shook his head. "Everything affects everything." He took a firmer grip and sat on the ground, pulling the redhead's foot in his lap and disregarding his reluctance easily, and started massaging the foot from the toes up.

Hwoarang had to admit, it felt good. He couldn't quite shake off the feeling that the right thing to do would be to kick Jin off and lick his wounds in private, but the firm touch and the confident ministrations really felt good. Even his ankle—which he was sure he had sprained or killed altogether—accepted the attention, and the painful burning turned into a mild tingling, which he took for a good sign.

He struggled up and to a sitting position, leaning back on his hands, and his foot shifted a little in Jin's lap. He tried to catch Jin's eyes, but Jin only raised an absent-minded brow at him, and he decided he could accept the gracious care just a little longer. As Hwoarang leaned back, his hands gave a nasty reminder of their existence, and he struggled up, shifting again, until his undamaged foot was bent on the ground and able to support him upright. He brought his hands ahead of him and started peeling the gauntlet off.

The hand didn't look as bad as he had thought. It looked like it had been through hell, but all the joints moved and nothing was bruised too badly. His knuckles looked like he had run them through a thorn bush, though. He tried to see if all his fingers still responded to command.

"Is it bad?" Jin asked and looked at his hand sideways.

For the briefest moment, Hwoarang thought Jin was going to take it and virtually leave them holding hands, and he was prepared to jerk his hand away. Of course, Jin did no such thing because it was all in his head. "I'll live," Hwoarang said ruefully. He massaged the knuckles and realized belatedly that Jin was still working on his foot. "Umm, thanks. I think I'm good," he said and shifted.

Jin inclined his head and put his foot down carefully. Hwoarang moved for his footwear.

"You shouldn't put anything on it. It'll swell."

Hwoarang scowled. "I'm not walking around without any damn shoes."

Jin sighed. He rose to his feet, waiting while Hwoarang stuffed his foot back into his boot. He then offered a hand to Hwoarang, pulling him up as well. He brushed his clothes off. "Can we go now? My ass is freezing."

This time Hwoarang couldn't help it: he did laugh. The laughter was brief and spontaneous, and it was genuine. He hadn't even thought the pure and innocent Jin Kazama knew words like "ass." Jin's expression was delightfully smug, too. Looked like he'd been wrong about the guy on more than one account: Kazama wasn't half bad. "Yeah, mine too," he said with a grin. The grin turned into a wince as he laid weigh on his foot, and the change earned a slight frown from Jin.

"Can you walk on that foot?"

"Yeah..." Hwoarang grit his teeth and took slow steps. "I didn't think that through, did I?"

"No," Jin agreed, undeterred by Hwoarang's answering glower. Side by side, they made their way over to the house that had long since quieted down for the night. Jin gentlemanly adjusted his pace to Hwoarang's, who couldn't help a slight limp. They made it over to their room, where Hwoarang responded to Jin's offer of the bed by flinging himself down on his spot on the floor and throwing in a solid refusal. Minding their own business, they settled for the night.

* * *

**Enormous thanks** to **Gypsie** for the proofreading!

**Revised** February 19, 2010.  
**Published** March 28, 2009.


	5. The Red Room Unveiled

We have Chapter 5 and a good time for announcements.

The expected length of this story is 15 chapters. Everyone root for me while I embark on this suicide mission. Chapter length: unspecified. The chapters have been getting overly long, so it will be interesting to see if we return to my comfort zone later on. The updates come as the chapters get written and finalized; I'm not holding anything back. Thanks for your interest and patience in the meantime!

The punctuation where the ellipsis point (…) is followed by an end punctuation mark is correct. The current (4/2009) site encoding makes it look awkward, unfortunately. Edit 9/27/09: Ah ha! The site settings have changed. All chapters have been modified accordingly, and the punctuation should now look more pleasing on the eye. Edit 6/26/10: And lookie, lookie. The site settings changed again. Back to three dots it is. Site administration has also disabled the use of double punctuation. This includes double hyphens ("- -" without space) to denote an em dash ("—") or a scene break and two punctution marks used together ("? !" without space). I have revised the story to accommodate.

A _ryokan_, mentioned in this chapter, is a Japanese inn. Lee Chaolan is primarily addressed by his family name, Lee, following Namco's example. Finally: we have this and the next chapter until M-rated romance. Thank you for the reviews, and thanks for reading!

* * *

**Chapter 5: The Red Room Unveiled**

Hwoarang lay on his back and raised his foot off the floor. He twisted the foot experimentally and drew a circle in the air with it, and his ankle allowed it with nominal discomfort. The rest of him didn't feel too bad, either, but the ankle was a surprise and a subsequent joy. He twisted it again, and while the joints took no pleasure in the experiment, they allowed the maneuvers all the same.

Hwoarang let his foot back down and sighed in relief. He hadn't killed the foot, and he was still in with a win under his belt. He owed it to Jin, too. It had been after that horrifying garden episode, when Jin had come to his rescue for the second time.

* * *

He was trying to get comfortable on the floor, mindful of his foot, when Jin popped up by his side.

"I don't know if you want this, but it could help," Jin said as he crouched beside him and offered him a hexagonal glass jar.

"What's this?" Hwoarang said automatically before taking a closer look.

"Tiger balm. It helps with muscle pain... if you'd like to try it on your ankle, that is."

Hwoarang rolled the jar in his fingers. It looked slightly worn, but he recognized the leaping tiger on the label and the royal red decorations and decided that the jar wasn't all that different from the ones available at home. He hadn't actually ever tried the ointment, but he knew of it, of course. It was such a small jar, though. "Thanks, but it's yours. I don't want to use it up; you may need it yourself." He offered the jar back, but Jin declined it.

"I don't need it."

"Because you don't get hurt yourself—is that it? You think I need favors from you?" _You think I'm weaker than you?_ The choler was so instinctive and overpowering that Hwoarang wasn't able to subdue it, even when he regretted lashing out the instant the harsh words left his mouth. His shame doubled when Jin looked at him in surprise, and he felt downright rotten when he saw a hurt look pass on Jin's face before it was quickly stowed away. When Jin looked away and blinked rapidly, Hwoarang was ready to shoot himself. _Shit, shit..._ He couldn't help himself; the thought—the mere implication—that he was second to the Mishima prodigy made his blood boil and overthrew rational thinking. Now he had taken it out on Jin, just as they had started getting along, and Jin had come to find him when no one else had, and now he had fuck it all to ruin. Fucking hell with him. And he was back to cursing every second word.

Jin was back to facing his direction, but he wouldn't meet his eyes. "I—I didn't mean to im-imply anything. It—it's just... Maybe you'd like it." He sounded defeated. He still held out the jar miserably.

Kazama was stuttering. Hwoarang's heart sank. Jin didn't do that normally; he had noticed how Jin's hedging turned to stumbling when he was upset, and only then.

He had to act and redeem himself. "Jin...," he said and grasped Jin's arm, "I didn't mean anything. I—I just get stupid." Now he was the one stammering. He held onto Jin's arm, even when Jin clearly noticed his hand there and threw a confused look at it. This was important; he had to make Jin understand, and so he kept his hand there, even if meant stepping outside his personal comfort zone. "Okay?" he said stupidly and half-squeezed, half-patted Jin's arm before relinquishing his hold.

Jin nodded to himself thoughtfully and pulled himself upright. He even quirked a wan smile, to Hwoarang's relief.

"You really don't use this yourself?"

Jin placed the jar wordlessly in Hwoarang's hand, his fingers brushing the skin of his hand briefly as he did. He shook his head lightly. "No. It doesn't really work for me, but it helps others. You won't need much," was all he said.

"Thanks," Hwoarang said. His back was screaming in protest, and he had to rise to a better sitting position before wrestling with the jar. He placed the jar aside while he tried to get into a bearing that would allow him to sit upright and work on his foot the same time. He was so tired, and his body ached so badly that he found the ludicrously simple task to be taxing, and he ended up fidgeting and shifting on the bedding. He was conscious that Jin hadn't moved much and was watching him closely. A blush crept up on Hwoarang's face; what a great mess he was, when sitting up and bending his limbs was getting the best of him. Kazama would have had every right to slight him some.

"Would you like me to put it on?"

The dreaded offer of help wasn't perhaps a surprise any more than the fact that it was presented with a steady, unprovocative voice, and still Hwoarang found his face heating with scorching intensity. The universe was all about humiliating him. "Shit...," he muttered and winced at the creak his hand gave when he tried to push himself upright. He was so freaking tired. "You don't need to do that."

Jin sighed audibly. He gave it time, but then he said, "Just get on your back," and pushed Hwoarang down with a firm shove to his chest.

Hwoarang let out a yelp of protest, but Jin shot him such a firm scowl that he knew the game was lost, and his rival was going to engage in giving him the second foot rub that night. He lay back in defeat and took his ease. He could be humiliated, but at least he could be comfortable while at it.

"Good. Now, work on being less stubborn," Jin muttered, and Hwoarang almost swore he did not say that entirely without humor, although he decided against commenting on it. Jin bent over him and reached for the jar.

Hwoarang propped up on his elbows and saw Jin looking at the jar before wrenching it open carefully. The jar gave a slight plop as it came open. Jin's eyes glistened faintly as he still gazed at the jar. Hwoarang noticed it with apprehension, but then the smell reached him, and he dropped back with a groan. Kazama was blinking at the foul odor of that ointment; it was strong enough to bring tears to one's eyes. It reeked to him, and it must have been stupefying at a close proximity. "Is the whole place going to smell like that?"

"Yes." There was humor in that voice now, definitely.

Hwoarang groaned again. Then Jin's fingers, covered with a faint film of balm, went to his foot, and an intense heat pried his attention from the foul odor. The feeling was heady, and it enkindled his senses. Jin applied more balm and worked his way from the sole of Hwoarang's foot to his ankle. He massaged the ankle gently, and Hwoarang was sold. "How come you keep this stuff if you don't use it yourself?" he said as he leaned back and closed his eyes. He was too distracted by the pleasant sensation to notice that Jin took a moment to reply.

"I've had it for a long time."

"Mm-m."

It wasn't that unpleasant a smell, but it was strong. Anything that felt as nice couldn't be entirely disagreeable, Hwoarang decided, and craned his neck pleasurably. Just lying here, he could easily forget it was Jin massaging his foot...

He opened his eyes. "Umm, hey. You should get some sleep. I've kept you up half the night already..."

"It is not a bother," Jin said, sedate as usual. He gave the foot a tuck before putting it down carefully. "How does that feel?"

"It's great. Thanks." That was the truth, too. Morning would give the final results, but the foot felt at least twice as good as after the first rub, and that rub had already felt pretty damn nice. "Seriously, get some sleep. You've done more than enough already."

"Let's hope it worked. See how it is in the morning."

Hwoarang gathered his blankets in his lap and settled down, hoping Jin would do the same. Then, as he thought about sleeping, he felt slightly guilty. Jin wasn't sleeping well, and here he was, contributing to it. The guy probably thought he kept it a secret, but the somnolent mornings and restless nights were hard to conceal when you were sharing a room. Jin seemed sedated when waking up, even when he perked up as the day progressed. It wasn't really Hwoarang's concern, but... he had noticed it.

Hwoarang closed his eyes in an attempt to grant them both some privacy, and he left Jin to attend to whatever he had to attend to before settling down. This was a drop-dead kind of night, with minimal changing of clothes, let alone washing up.

"Night." The shuffling noises told that Jin had lain down, and the lights went off with a whisper.

"Night," Hwoarang responded. He hugged at the blankets and hoped Jin would fall asleep soon.

As Hwoarang drifted into outward repose, Jin took the jar and worked the lid back on with infinite gentleness. He stared at the small jar before giving it a pet of sorts and placing it very carefully into his keep of personal items, back among the other few he had left of Jun.

* * *

It was a new day now, and Hwoarang was no longer a man with a problem. His ankle was as good as new, and he was in good spirits. If Jin hadn't showed up with that weird jar of his and, admittedly, very nice moves, he would have been a wreck. Damn, he'd have to say thanks. Now, if only he could think of saying it without losing too much of his pride. It was weak of him, having his rival look after his back like this... But then, Jin hadn't made a show of it or seemed to mind.

It worked for them, this looking after each other's backs, Hwoarang realized. It was a good notion to start the day with.

* * *

The tournament progressed through its usual course of tedious matches and rematches, most of them happening to other people at an assortment of locations, each with their themes and quirks. On one hand, there was plenty of extra time, and on the other hand, the matches tended to be scheduled with a lacking regularity and at too short or long intervals. It all went well into the special, delightful characteristics that made up the tournament.

Jin and Hwoarang's coexistence was increasingly companionable; over a mere number of days, they settled into their skin to find some humor in this all, despite having to live next to the designated orgy room and having to share a room in the first place. It wasn't bad at all; the early notion that it was nice to have someone around held true. They had their own training and competing schedules, but in the evenings, they found their way to the room at around the same time. Even so, the evenings got long, as one could only train or trifle in the public areas so much.

Eventually, there was nothing to do but talk. That, too, was an experiment for them. They had never really talked before. It was light and casual: nothing to probe too deep into their personal histories, but exchanging tips about sports and comparing likes and dislikes was a good pastime. Hwoarang finally told Jin why he didn't mind the floor.

"You wouldn't have beds in traditional Korea. Or bedrooms. We use sleeping mattresses." Hwoarang was leaning against the wall and resting his arms on his knees. He was in a pair of sweats and a t-shirt for the night, yawning every now and then. Jin lay on his back on the bed, staring at the ceiling, in his nightclothes as well. They were just hanging around. The lights were turned off, and their eyes were growing accustomed to the dusky room.

"Really?"

"Yeah... I guess it's just a tradition now... but old habits die hard. So, I don't mind that much. Maybe not my first choice, but I'll live."

"Hm? I never knew."

Hwoarang laughed shortly. "Yeah, I guess you wouldn't know about stuff like that. Learn about it."

"We have something similar. If you have ever been to a _ryokan_ here...?"

"Haven't traveled much in Japan. Sorry."

The ensuing silence was a comfortable one. To Hwoarang, however, it was a portal to delve into his starting match. He had been playing it in his head so many times, even when he didn't care to explore his own conduct in it too closely, and he still didn't know how that thing had acted the way it had. Would Jin know any better? The desire to share was too overwhelming, and he spoke up on an impulse. "Do you know how Mokujin picks his fighting styles?"

"Mokujin?"

"Yeah. Do you know how he picks his style? Or where, why?" Hwoarang hated referring to the treacherous impostor as a "he," but he wasn't about to pick on semantics now.

"No, I'm sorry." There was a pause before Jin asked, "Is it important?"

"Never mind." Jin didn't know, and why would he? Hwoarang felt irritated at himself, like he had revealed something deeply intimate and made himself vulnerable. "It's not important." The irritation wouldn't leave, even when he tried to shoot down the confession. It felt like he had given away something real about himself.

"All right," Jin said in a final tone.

The matter would not be touched again, and even through beating himself up, Hwoarang felt grateful. Jin had good qualities like that: he didn't pry, and he didn't make a fuss. Hwoarang could appreciate the reticence, and, in all honesty, he could be partial to some of those characteristics.

This was getting way too mushy.

They remained in silence, but now, different thoughts plagued Hwoarang. This roomie-thing was one, but they were also bonding—he had no other word for it. He would never have imagined they would come to have this friendly camaraderie when he had enrolled into the tournament. He couldn't tell what Kazama thought of it, or if he thought about it at all, but they were slipping away from that rematch every day.

"Jin... All this buddy-buddy... It still doesn't mean I don't want to fight you." He had to say it out loud. That was what they were here for: to fight. Yet, Hwoarang couldn't shake off the feeling that he had said the wrong thing, somehow. The ill feeling was emphasized when Jin replied to him, and the response echoed the hesitance he had felt lately.

"Is it that important to you?" Jin lay unmoving on the bed and spoke the words to the ceiling.

"Yeah... Doesn't it matter to you? Don't you want to know _who the better man is_?"

Jin was quiet for a long time before he finally said, "As you wish."

With that, they agreed that the game was still on, and they still had the question of supremacy to solve, within or after the tournament. Yet, Hwoarang could not feel enjoyment over the fact.

* * *

It was all going so well, until that wretched day when all had to come out. Jin and Hwoarang were returning from the gym at the same time. They were almost to their place, when the door to the neighboring room opened, and Kazuya Mishima stepped out. In tow, Lee Chaolan followed, his hair slightly disheveled, still tucking a shirt into his pants.

Hwoarang froze on the spot; Jin, too. Kazuya Mishima saw them, but he recovered quickly. He pulled his head upright and gave them an arrogant look. He avoided Jin none, but accorded him a look of contempt, sneering in every way but in words. Jin responded with equal distaste. Lee Chaolan didn't engage in the enmity; he nodded to Jin and Hwoarang and waited on the side. With the last antagonistic look at Jin, one that extended to Hwoarang for the briefest glance, Kazuya left with Lee.

Jin looked long after them. He looked at Hwoarang. He shook out of it. "Them?"

There wasn't a place on Earth where Hwoarang would not have rather been. He had tempted fate and lost, and now Jin was thinking God knew what and waiting for an answer. "Let's go in." He didn't want to do this in the hallway. Luckily, Jin followed him in the room and let him close the door. Hwoarang braced for what was about to come.

"Him?" Jin said. His eyes felt piercing to Hwoarang, who sought to brave his wrath. "It's been him all along? Why didn't you say something?"

"I'm sorry, but would you have wanted to know? From me?"

Jin frowned. "What do you mean, 'from you?' What's wrong with you?"

Hwoarang blinked. What did Jin mean, what was wrong with him? They'd been up against each other until now, and they still vied for superiority over each other. How could he have been the one to tell; telling a man his father was screwing a man, let alone whom, wasn't the kind of news that should come from the one challenging you. It wasn't appropriate. It was breaking the unwritten rules—the same ones that they had been throwing on the scrapheap lately. The ones Jin didn't consider relevant, Hwoarang suddenly realized. But still... "I mean, it's me—" The thought was getting him nowhere, and he tried to convey another one. "I didn't know what to say," he said wearily. He should have come clean; secrets always came out, sooner or later. He hadn't had the words then, and he didn't know what to say now. He felt Jin's eyes on him, but he couldn't bring himself to meet them.

"Is this why everyone has been acting so oddly? Is that all?"

All? The scene came back in a flash. _He had gone to his room. After the initial startle, Kazuya Mishima had smirked. He hadn't bothered to cover himself; Lee Chaolan hadn't been able to. The sight had been emphasized by the vivid red coloring of the room, the fortune color that had taken tainted shades in a twist of irony._ Hwoarang nodded miserably.

Some reaction was inevitable, and there it was: Jin sank on the bedside and started shaking. Not in shock or bent-up frustration, but in...

...laughter?

The world stopped making sense. Hwoarang was at a loss. "Jin?" He watched the shaking man in stupefaction.

A small eternity passed until Jin calmed down enough to look at Hwoarang. Jin's legs were spread afar, and he leaned his elbows on his knees. "Hwoarang. Do you think I give a shit about Kazuya Mishima or who he fucks?"

There was a good chance Jin Kazama had been replaced by aliens. It was likely, actually. Never in a million years would Hwoarang have expected expressions like that to leave Jin's mouth. "I gotta sit down," he mumbled, and fumbled a chair for himself. A stair leg got stuck on the mat, and he yanked it free, swinging the chair riskily in the air. He grabbed the chair with both hands, planted it on the floor, and placed himself onto it forcefully. He stared at Jin, who, by now, had noticed his bafflement and was clearly amused by it. "Come again?" he tried.

"What Kazuya does makes no difference to me."

"But—it's your father?"

"Kazuya Mishima is not a father to me. He and I share nothing but blood and genes." A strange expression flashed across Jin's face, but Hwoarang was too shocked to notice it.

"I... I thought...," Jin was looking at him like he was an interesting sample under the microscope, and Hwoarang finished lamely, "something."

"No." They both sat in silence, and Jin sobered. The moment of folly had passed, and Hwoarang was almost willing to believe he had imagined through the whole thing when Jin spoke, his voice calm and soothing again, "I did not know, and I would not have expected that choice of company from him, but it doesn't matter."

"It doesn't?"

"No." Jin was quiet for a moment. Then, he continued, "But maybe it explains something about me."

"Uh?"

"Perhaps his preferences explain something about my own."

"What?"

Hwoarang was not following at all, which Jin noted with fleeting amusement. Hwoarang wasn't obtuse usually, but he seemed perplexed now. Jin willed himself to stay collected and hide the mirth. "If my father enjoys male company, perhaps it makes sense that I do, as well," he said evenly, patiently. And waited.

The message sunk in. Hwoarang looked startled, but the response died on his lips. Honest to God, he stared at Jin, who met his gaze unfalteringly. "You—do?"

"I've always known it's an option."

"Oh." This was a lot to take in. Hwoarang had to get out and find a quiet place to think things through. He hadn't expected any of this, and he needed to... think. Because right now, he wasn't... thinking. Things were too muddled in his head for him to... think. He stood on his feet dazedly. "I guess I'll see you later," he said wanly. He felt stupid. A break would do him good and get his mind back on the track. Hwoarang was on his way to the door, when Jin rose to his feet.

"Hwoarang. If you are attracted, why aren't you doing anything about it?"

_Busted!_ his mind screamed. _That moment when he had realized he wanted to know what was going on in Jin's head, and he wanted to see him well..._ _That moment when he had gone to Jin's match, indifferent to the one he should have been preparing for... That moment when he had realized that the problem wasn't that he forgot it was Jin massaging him; the problem was that he would remember... Any number of those moments when he had looked at Kazama and felt like he was seeing him for the first time..._ Somewhere down the line, Kazama had found him out.

All these thoughts swirled in his head in a speed that made him dizzy. And Jin was calling him by name, too. Jin didn't do that unless it was something important, he had noticed... Eyes fixated on some insignificant spot on the wall, Hwoarang could only bring himself out to say quietly, "It's not that easy."

The silence carried on. When Jin broke out speaking again, his voice had taken hypnotic qualities.

"If you are _as attracted as I am_, why aren't you doing anything about it?"

Hwoarang realized what he had just heard and could only look at Jin in stupefaction. His gaze drifted to the door. It would have been so simple to walk away now, take a moment to think this through and ponder what it meant to find out that this... one-sided, forbidden infatuation was suddenly a very real possibility and a mutual attraction. It would have been the easy choice.

Jin stood still and waited.

Hwoarang took a step toward the door... and halted. Was he going to run away? The resolve crystallized at that moment: he was not, and never would be, a coward. He stepped up to Jin and pled silently that he wasn't hallucinating this. Then, he leaned in and pressed his lips onto Jin's.

Jin's lips were firm, masculine, and just as exquisite as the man himself. Their touch was soft and pleasing to him. It was a test, and Hwoarang passed it by taking the initiative.

They broke off the kiss. They had an understanding now.

"I guess I'll see you later," Hwoarang said.

"You should. We live in the same room."

_Damn Kazama._

Hwoarang made it out of the room after a slight delay: as he turned to leave, Jin leaned in and kissed him twice.

* * *

**Immense thanks** to **Gypsie** for the proofreading! Seriously, thank you so much.

**Revised** April 19, May 9, May 14, and September 25, 2009.  
**Published** April 16, 2009.


	6. Flip Out to the Dark Side

Many thanks for the reviews! Thanks also for the several compliments on "my length" from those reading the story as I'm putting it out. Heh heh, that reminds me of... Damn it. I was sure there was a double entendre somewhere in there, but now, I can't think of any...

With winks, here be Chapter 6.

* * *

**Chapter 6: Flip Out to the Dark Side**

The practice hall was empty as Jin and Hwoarang entered it. They had decided to practice together, and it was better to go at it with someone you knew to be a challenge.

They agreed to take it lightly, just to keep up the mood while waiting for the scheduled fights. It didn't stay light.

As soon as the first punch landed, the mood changed palpably, and the sense of camaraderie morphed into ire, fueled by an old match that had left them unfulfilled at the absence of a winner. Hwoarang could feel the old fire burning again, and itched to solve supremacy once and for all. Jin was absorbed by a different, fiendish urge that he was unable to quell and, as the match progressed and the hits hardened, incapable to even recognize as a yen not his own.

It was like dark, twisted magic. Jin gathered power into his strikes in a way unfit for sparring; Hwoarang demonstrated his agility with a merciless string of kicks that Jin was unable to block, let alone match. Hwoarang topped off his charge by grabbing Jin by the wrist and landing a deliberate, mocking series of kicks on his face, all the while supporting himself on one leg only, showing off a superior sense of balance. He pushed Jin onto the ground easily and, for having the ability to toss the Mishima prodigy around as he pleased, sneered.

The fight crossed the line then. Jin rose impossibly fast and was back to face Hwoarang in no time. Before the latter had had the time to process the shift of power, Jin had landed a terrifying strike that sent him flying backward with a thump into the wall. The wind was knocked out of Hwoarang, who barely registered a flash of red and a sizzling sound before Jin attacked again. He was pushed onto the wall and captured at the neck with an arm.

The shock that Jin was strangling him left Hwoarang anything but paralyzed. He immediately tried to push him off, but it was to no avail. Instead, Jin captured him even more securely, invading his personal space so that they were brushing against each other. He pushed at his neck upward with one arm, forcing him to rise on his toes, and secured his hand with his free arm. Jin had him immobilized effectively; he had no leverage, due to Jin's proximity and the waning support of his legs. Jin used his impressive build effectively to pin him flat. He tried to speak, but nothing came out of his constricted larynx except garble. His sight was failing; in his eyes, Kazama's had shifted color. Black marks danced in his field of vision.

"_Pray."_

Hwoarang didn't understand that it was Jin speaking right by him; the voice was alien. Hwoarang coiled for one last attempt to shake Jin off. He drew a knee right below the ribcage, and it worked; Jin lost his hold, and Hwoarang drew a shaky breath, but then he was captured again.

Jin leaned in. _"Beg."_ His voice cracked with a metallic sound. It was an empty taunt, not meant to be fulfilled. Hwoarang was captured with an even deadlier stranglehold and, this time, no strength or skill saved him as his desperate struggle was quenched by asphyxia and a painful descent into deathly darkness.

* * *

"Shh. Lie still. Don't move."

Hwoarang rose at the voice, but strong hands restrained him and pinned him against the soft material. As he stopped resisting, due to lack of honest strength to fight back, the hands immediately released him and went to rest on his chest.

"Hwoarang, can you hear me? Don't say anything, all right? Wave your hand or something." The voice was a beacon, guiding Hwoarang back into the world. He knew the speaker, but he was not awake enough to put a name on the accent. The voice asked for his input again, and finally Hwoarang managed a weak lift of his hand.

"Good. Now, listen. Try not to speak or move much. Open your eyes; it's dark in here. Take it easy."

It was uncertain if the step-by-step instructions had sunk in, but obligingly enough, Hwoarang opened his eyes and blinked to grow accustomed to the surroundings. When he was finally able to see straight, he recognized Steve Fox sitting by his side.

As recognition dawned, Steve shot him a grin. "Welcome back." He tapped lightly on Hwoarang's chest.

Hwoarang gave a mutter, which turned into a hacking fit.

"What did I say about talking? None of that."

Hwoarang lay still. He was analyzing the surroundings, but the data was inconsistent. Why was it Steve? It should have been... "Jin?"

"Jin's not here. Don't worry about him now."

His sides were sore, not to mention his arms felt like hell. His throat was sandpaper, and air rasped as he drew breath. Hwoarang batted his lids, but the world wasn't making sense. He tried to put two and two together, but the math wouldn't add up. His eyes closed, and he dropped limply on the bed.

Steve looked at him, but the crease of his brow smoothed when he saw Hwoarang's chest rise and fall steadily. Either the man had passed out or was just regrouping; either way, he was still with the living. Steve drew a leg up on the bed and allowed himself to sink back in his chair.

* * *

_He had gone to the gym, eager to throw a few punches before the rest of the crowd would start pouring in. It was funny how, in a massive household like this, the fighters tended to do things at the same time and hate each other for it, while still unable to break the routine._

_A disconcerting sight had met him: Jin Kazama pushing Hwoarang against the wall in a manner that seemed far from friendly practice. Steve had grown alarmed as he had seen Hwoarang slump and his eyes close._

"Stop! What the hell are you doing?" He dropped his bag and sprinted to the other side. "Stop it, Jin!" He yanked Jin off. Without the support, Hwoarang sank onto the floor bonelessly. Steve's eyes darted back and forth between them. "What the fuck is wrong with you?" he spat at Jin, who now realized there was a third man in the room and recoiled at the harsh tone, unbecoming the usually benign Steve Fox.

Jin gulped and backed away as Steve looked at him with due accusation laced with incredulity. Steve cast glances back and forth between them, making sure Jin wouldn't bolt on him before focusing fully on Hwoarang. "Hey. Hey, wake up." His words had no effect.

Steve explored his options frantically. What the hell was he supposed to do? Check the breathing? _Yeah, that_'_s it._ He leaned in to listen to any sounds, but realized the trick wasn't working. Try the pulse? _Good thinking._ He yanked his glove off and hovered uncertainly before latching his fingers onto Hwoarang's wrist. He found a beat, but was it supposed to be fast or slow? How the hell was he supposed to know, and what could he do about it, in any case? He realized he was growing frantic and not helping at all. He wasn't a medic, but he would do what he could. He would treat this just as another knockout.

He realized he had missed the other party, and looked around for the culprit. As he saw the dark figure, his anger faded and concern took over. A distance away, Jin sat with his back against the wall, his head buried in his arms. He was shaking.

"Hey. Come over here. Help me out." He tried to keep a cheery note.

When no response came, Steve left Hwoarang's side and made his way over to Jin. He crouched beside Jin and spoke gently. "C'mon. It's fine. He's fine. You just knocked him out. Get up and help me before someone comes in here." His arms bore into his thighs as he supported himself and held back, pointedly not touching Jin despite the close distance. "Jin, snap out of it. You have to get up."

Jin, buried in some dark world of his, couldn't resist the soothing voice. He looked up at Steve, who repressed the urge to comfort Jin at seeing the distraught, red-rimmed look the man gave a spot above his shoulder, not meeting his eyes. He gave a little smile. "That's it. Rise and shine. Come on over, and we'll deal with this."

Steve drew himself up and waited for Jin to do the same. He escorted him back to Hwoarang and unhesitantly brushed off Jin's hesitancy, pretending not to notice. The benefit of the doubt, not to mention Jin's comportment now, made him disinclined to throw stones. Whatever had caused the mindless display, the poor devil was paying hell for it now. "We need to get him out. People are coming in any time now, and he should rest somewhere. Let him wake up on his own time, hm?"

Jin stared at the unconscious redhead frozenly. "I'll carry him," he said numbly.

"No, you won't. You'll break your back if you try. You take one side, and I take one."

"I'll carry him."

"You can't and you won't, so don't bother arguing about it." Steve reached down to pull Hwoarang up, and Jin had no choice but to mimic his gestures. Between them, they lifted Hwoarang and supported him reasonably well by the arms and hands wrapped around his waist. While Steve pondered a more straightforward "you take the legs, I take the head" approach, he figured this was the safest to explain in case they ran into someone, even if it wasn't very comfortable for the carrier, least of all the carriee. Steve had no plans to explain anything to anyone, but still... this position was the one people expected when unconscious mates were moved around. "Where's Hwoarang staying?"

"We share a room."

Steve didn't skip a beat. "We take him to mine. It's closer," he said smoothly. Inwardly, his amazement at the new piece of information knew no limits. _The hell?_

* * *

So it was that Steve found himself the watcher of Hwoarang, placed unconscious on his bed and only now coming to, while thinking about Jin, who had slipped out as soon as they were done and hadn't come back. Angry though he was at the idiocy he had witnessed, he couldn't help worrying about Kazama, who had seemed to be in shock.

Hwoarang was stirring again, bringing Steve out of his thoughts. "Hey?"

"Mm—" Hwoarang shot up and went into a coughing fit. The hacking breaths came out painfully.

_Damn!_ Steve waited by helplessly. He knew he wasn't any help at all, but he had no idea what to do. The coughing stopped, and he grasped Hwoarang's bicep. "You hanging in there?"

Hwoarang drew breath and winced at the firm agony his pipes were giving. He massaged his neck, but that only amplified the sting. "Da—" His voice broke, and he grimaced. He drew himself up on the bed and leaned forward. _"Damn,"_ he croaked and frowned. _"Sounds awful."_

"It's no prize," Steve agreed, and his spirits soared when Hwoarang shot him a nasty look. "I'll get you water. Don't go anywhere." He slipped down to the hallway to give Hwoarang some privacy and not give away how relieved he himself was. His heart was still racing, and it had nearly been in his throat earlier. He skipped the nearest water supply and strode down to the kitchen instead.

When he returned with two glasses, Hwoarang was sitting up on the bed, looking more alert already. "This is cold. This one's lukewarm."

Hwoarang beckoned to the cold glass and gave a grimace along with a gulp. He switched glasses quickly, mentally toasting to Steve. Drinking stung, but he was thirsty. He downed the entire glass, which still left him thirsting for more. "Thanks." This voice rasped, but it was livable.

"You might want to lay off the talking," Steve reminded him. "And lie down if you're feeling dizzy."

Hwoarang's head jerked, and he gave a dismissive grunt. His head felt heavy and his thinking dragged, but he wasn't about to make that public knowledge. He brought a hand to his side and felt it down to his waist; he discovered the muscles sore to his touch.

"Or you can be stubborn and stay up, just to spite me," Steve suggested.

A quick twitch traced Hwoarang's lips as he raised a brow and mouthed, "Hmph." He stayed up, sitting cross-legged on Steve's bed, even when he was nodding off. This wouldn't do. He straightened up. "Where the hell's Kazama?"

"I don't know. He helped get you here and then he disappeared." Hwoarang was up and determined to stay that way. Sighing defeat, Steve slouched in his chair. He sat around, but the silence was making him uneasy. "So...," he said eventually, "you and Jin, hm?"

Hwoarang's pulse shot up. He willed himself not to react, but his system wouldn't abide his will; his breathing was too heavy in his own ears. "What?" He hoped that had come off as casual, but his chest was heaving. He coughed.

"He said you share a room. I thought you two didn't get along?"

"Yeah, well..." It suddenly dawned on Hwoarang that Steve was talking about the buddy-buddy and nothing more private. "Yeah, well. We are working on it. We were working on it..." Hwoarang got up abruptly.

"Whoa! Where do you think you're going?"

Steve's tone was so offended, Hwoarang couldn't help cracking a smile. "Flattered by your nursemaid skills, but I'm not dead. I'll lie down in my own room; clear your space." His speech came out a little labored, but it had the usual sharpness to it, as did his entire bearing, despite the nasty twinge of his side.

"You don't need to leave," Steve said firmly.

Hwoarang shook his head, displeased to find it reacting badly to the motion. "Don't worry about it."

"You're going to be pig-headed with this, aren't you?" As Hwoarang gave him a confirming look, Steve continued with a pronounced sigh, "If you need me, I'm staying here. If you and Jin... you know?"

It was probably a different "you know" he was thinking, but Hwoarang wasn't going to correct him. He did know. "Thanks, Steve." He grasped Steve's shoulder and kept his hand there a little longer than necessary. He looked at him from the corner of his eye.

Steve understood. "Any time, mate," he said, faking a cheerful tone. He clapped Hwoarang on the back hard enough to earn a scowl and a cough and to consider both their prides intact. Hwoarang was leaving, but Steve hesitated. Maybe he should just stay out of it, but it wasn't the right thing to do. "Hey... For what it's worth, he was really shaken. Don't think he meant it."

* * *

Hwoarang was shaky on his feet by the time he finally reached their room. Upon parting Steve, he had had the full intention of locating Kazama and pushing for an explanation, but as he'd started on his way, he had realized he had to go lie down as quickly as possible. He was lucky to make it through the building without running into too many fellow competitors, and the only one he saw, he was able to pass by with a greeting grunt.

He made it to the room, gave a knock, and, when no reply came, pushed the handle. The door stayed firmly closed, even when the handle turned. The surprise lasted a second before determination took over. Jin wasn't going to be rid of him that easily. "It's me. Open up," he called out and tapped on the door.

There was no answer. Hwoarang waited and tried the handle again. He didn't even remember their room having a particularly good lock, but it must have; why else would the door be closed? Yet, the door wouldn't open. Nauseated and confused, Hwoarang bridled.

"Jin, open the fuck up! My shit's in there!"

Hwoarang cursed to himself. Why did he have to say that? His head felt like such a mess. He'd come back when he was able to think clearly. He kicked the door and turned to leave.

The moving noises from inside the room stopped him. It dawned on Hwoarang that Jin had been sitting against the door, and he had just kicked the guy in the back. Regardless of the circumstances, his guilt rocketed. Hwoarang opened the door to find Jin backed away in the dim room, lightly hidden in the shadows. The curtains were drawn.

As Hwoarang stepped in and approached his target, closing the door behind him, he was stunned when Jin backed away from him. _What the devil..._ "Jin?" he said carefully.

He could hear Jin's breathing in the room, but the deficient light didn't hide the man as well as he perhaps thought: he could make Jin's features distinctly.

Jin beheld Hwoarang, but his gaze faltered. "I am sorry."

Jin's entire being was so forlorn, Hwoarang's insides surged in sympathy. However, before he could speak, a coughing fit surprised him, and he drew his chin to his chest. His pipes protested, but the coughing reflex was too compelling. As he raised his gaze, Jin had moved further, effectively cornering himself. It was as though Jin was afraid of him, but that thought was insane. "This is just tem— temp— now," Hwoarang said between coughs. "It'll pass." His head hurt, and it didn't help that Jin's weirdness and the eerie room risked grating on him.

"Do you move out, or do I? I don't mind; I just didn't know what you wanted to d—"

"WHAT?"

"You don't want to stay."

Jin's voice bled pain. Were those—were those tears in his voice? Hwoarang pressed a palm on his head. He wasn't sure which hurt more, his head or his throat, and his heart wasn't doing so well, either. His pulse was creeping up by the second, and his heart positively pounded. "Jin—" Hwoarang made a direct course to the bed, ignoring Jin's flinching and subsequent relief at being bypassed. "—Shut up." He sat on the bed, pulled his legs up, and lay down.

"What are you doing?" Jin choked.

"I'm going to sleep, and you're gonna let me," Hwoarang said, closing his eyes.

"You... you aren't leaving?"

"No." Hwoarang kept his eyes closed with effort at first, but drowsiness overtook him, and a welcome lassitude spread to his body. A full minute passed in silence, and he felt the weight of each second on him. He was fully aware that Jin had not moved. "Quit staring."

"How did you know?"

"I can feel you." The humor in his voice was marred by the audible rasping. His voice was giving out. He, too, could only think of sleep. "C'mere."

"What?"

Hwoarang raised a feeble hand and beckoned to Jin. It took ages before the latter reacted, but he finally moved from his safe spot over to the bedside. Hwoarang patted the bed beside him and inched closer to the wall. He didn't move much; he had every right to the damn bed and sprawling on it to his heart's content, but he left what he thought was a symbolic amount of room. "Come on," he repeated with a pat on the bed and drew his hand out of the way, leaving the space up for grabs.

Too long passed until Jin sat beside him, half slipping onto the floor, not touching him. Wariness shone from him.

"You're still staring." Hwoarang's lips curled.

Jin finally caught the drift. Loathe to believe his luck, unwilling to believe he could have been forgiven, he lay down on his side next to Hwoarang, who rested on his back. They weren't touching, and Jin was close to falling off the bed entirely. His settling down went without objections, which he could barely comprehend. He waited, stupefied, but as no feedback came, he ventured on and scooted over until he was firmly pressed onto Hwoarang's side. Luckily, he didn't touch any sore spots.

Jin gulped a little, but no voice came to tell him off. He didn't know what this was. In the end, fully expecting to be elbowed out and prepared to accept it, he braved a hand on Hwoarang's stomach. "I am so sorry."

"Shut up," Hwoarang said, but he wasn't angry. He lifted the arm Jin wasn't trapping between them and touched Jin's upper arm. He brushed his hand against Jin's before dropping it on his side and succumbing to repose. He left behind a Jin amazed by the turn of events and holding onto him tightly.

* * *

It was getting dark when Hwoarang roused. It didn't take him long to register that he was very warm and surrounded by more warmth. Somewhere down the line, a blanket had appeared to cover him to his chest. His stomach was warm, and a warm palm was pressed onto it. The likely culprit for the blanket and the certified owner of the hand was snuggled on his side.

"How are you feeling?"

"Hmm." His throat was drier than the desert, and he was roasting. He didn't open his eyes; he knew without looking that Jin had his eyes on him. "How long've you been up?"

"A while."

That translated to sleeping little to none. Hwoarang struggled to identify the emotions that the notion brought: it was a little creepy, to be sure, that Jin had watched over him and kept guard, but it also made Hwoarang gulp, and he was subsequently reminded of his parched throat. It also caused some of that outward warmth travel inward and flood him.

Jin sharpened. "I'll get you something to drink."

A drink would've been nice, but Hwoarang uttered, "Ngh." He wanted to lie here and enjoy the moment. Jin conceded and stayed leeched onto his side, leaving Hwoarang to process the day.

When Steve had left, he had had time to think things through. He had come to the irrevocable conclusion that he couldn't be angry with Jin because he would have done the same: seen red and sought retribution. It was an accident that things had gone awry the way they had, and it made surprisingly little difference. He could afford a few bruises and bear the brunt of Jin's umbrage.

It was he who had humiliated Jin. He had been so high strung on adrenaline and the triumph at besting the Mishima miracle by a margin, he'd gone out of his way to make his kicks sting and show a lack of regard. He hadn't meant it any more than he had been able to stop himself. The heat of the fight had overcome discretion; Jin matched him, which evoked deeply personal, overpowering emotions. It had been a game of luck of which one of them would prevail, and his had run out for one moment. The bottom line was... he understood. He didn't want to analyze it to death, but it made sense to him. The fight could have gone either way, with either one of them losing it; they weren't that different.

"Hwoarang?"

Jin's voice cut off his musings. It vibrated against his chest as Jin spoke, his body still firmly pressed on his side. Jin's hand rubbed at his stomach lightly, warm and comfortable.

It felt good, and Hwoarang smiled to himself. "Hm?"

"I really am sorry."

Hwoarang's smile faded. He cracked his eyes open and met Jin's through his clearing vision. He brought a hand to Jin's face and brushed a dark bang off his brow. "I know." Those dark eyes were so expressive; he risked giving in to emotion himself. He swallowed a little, and the faint smile rose back on his face. Jin averted his gaze and simply lay against him.

This time, it was Hwoarang who lost himself looking. It was dark, but he could see Jin clearly. It felt like the first time every time he did. He was turning into a hopeless sap. Hwoarang kicked the blanket off himself, causing Jin to stir. "It's too warm." The warmth they shared between themselves was plenty, and he suspected it was contributing to his throat feeling even more parched. Cool water would have been nectar now, but he was too comfortable to get up and get some and not mean enough to make Jin do it. He simply eased into the embrace and suppressed a cough successfully.

He wasn't that successful. "Hwoarang, I—"

"Jin, don't worry about it. I don't break that easily. Stay still, if you don't have to be anywhere."

"I don't have to be anywhere else."

"Good." In the same breath, they snuggled tighter. Hwoarang had no idea what time it was, but he was tired. It was too early to go to bed – except he already was in bed and with Jin – but he was going to take a breather for the evening and wake up as good as new. They would put this past them, clean and simple. "Tomorrow's another day."

"Are you sure?"

The shades of gray in Jin's world seemed less dull when he heard the conviction in Hwoarang's answer:

"Yes."

* * *

**Many thanks** to **Gypsie** for the proofreading!

**Published** May 15, 2009.


	7. Rubicon, M

Thanks to everyone reading, and many thanks for the reviews! Judging by the comments, the previous chapter seemed like a change to the expected. As for "things inside of Jin"... I shouldn't comment that one.

...Yet, I am working on it.

_Rubicon_- a line that when crossed permits no return and typically results in irrevocable commitment._ WordNet 3.0_.

**This chapter features romance at M rating.**

* * *

**Chapter 7: Rubicon**

Two days later, Hwoarang was scrutinizing his belongings. The suitcase rested open on the credenza, and he was lifting the layers of clothes one corner at a time to see what was underneath. His gaze drifted to the bedside table and the drinking glasses, which were piling up in towers. He really should get Jin to take them away.

The idea that he wouldn't be mean enough to make Jin run his errands had lasted for one night exactly. After that, Jin had drowned him in drinks and anything he thought would help with the recovery. Half the time, Hwoarang made him get things for him. It had worked beautifully, until Jin had gotten suspicious that he was running him around for nothing. Hwoarang grinned.

Suddenly, he giggled. "Sonova—!"

It was to no avail. Jin had placed his hands on his hips, planted a kiss to the back of his neck, and vanished just as swiftly, leaving the door to close behind him with a click.

Hwoarang brought a hand to his neck and rubbed the spot to get rid of the ticklishness. The feeling passed, and the vicious rubbing ceased. He squeezed the back of his neck gently, this time savoring the memory. The smile couldn't be contained. He knew Jin had sported a grin of his own upon parting. The man was smug and much too pleased with himself.

The glasses on the bedside table chanced into Hwoarang's eyes again, and he returned his hand from the back of his neck to the suitcase. It was working out; as long as Jin thought he was using him, Jin wouldn't catch on to the fact that he wasn't all right.

Hwoarang sighed. He was fine, and this weakness would pass. It had to be a residual effect and an echo that still left him short of air, though he had the good sense to control the reaction and, most importantly, keep Jin unaware of it.

He had to be all right: he had a match tonight. It was the third one for him, after he had cleared Jack-5 with flying colors. The fight had hardly been worth a mention. Jackass had shorted, and after watching the thing pummel its chest and jump around the arena on its ass, Hwoarang had grown bored and unplugged him with a kick. He wasn't expecting the same this time.

He had gotten the ponytail. A pleased rush invaded his body at the thought. Drunken master or not, Lei Wulong made for a veritable opponent. At will, he could be positively slithering, and Hwoarang was looking forward to paying him back with interest for the Red Room comments. He wondered who his next opponent would be; the fourth match was always important. First things first, though. With a quick cough, which he suppressed forcibly, the corners of his mouth twitched, and he attacked the suitcase with new vigor.

* * *

He had been away from this far too long. Hwoarang redressed his gloves and waited for Lei Wulong to finish... whatever he was doing. Lei might be a tournament veteran and a reputable cop, but he managed to give the impression he was drunk day in, day out, whether he was pulling his fighting moves or not. After watching Lei sway on his feet and then move sharply into another position and, in turn, sway there, Hwoarang was getting woozy himself.

He surmised Lei was looking to wind him up; the smirks thrown in his direction were an attestation of that. Hwoarang straightened; he wasn't going to be undignified. Taekwondo would serve him well, and he might have a few moves up his sleeve that hadn't been part of class teachings.

It was time. The look on Hwoarang's face hardened, and he punched in the air and bowed. Lei Wulong's opening performance was more ornamental and much harder to define, and his balance was seemingly compromised.

"Shut up, already," Hwoarang said in an undertone. He knew better than to fall for that trap. Yet, he wasn't prepared for Lei's opening stunt when the bell rang: Lei plunged forward and headbutted him in the gut.

Hwoarang's hands went to his abdomen with a groan. He hadn't yet recovered, when Lei swayed in front of him, only to sharpen within a split second and pull himself into a stance. Before Hwoarang could guard himself, Lei had reached forward and struck him in the chest, sending him flying backward.

Hwoarang's back arched as he fell. Even as his back hit the ground and put a stop on the howl, he knew one thing: this wasn't the end of it. "Sick son of a bitch!" Lei was already in one of his stances when Hwoarang spun up and removed his hand from his lower back. This time, Hwoarang launched for an offensive: mercilessly, he landed powerful kicks, one after another, on Lei. The first ones, Lei blocked, and he was about to turn the tables, but Hwoarang grit his teeth and forced his mind to block out the pain from his thigh and foot and attack with all the strength he had.

The fourth kick got through Lei's guard and hit him in the head, where Hwoarang aimed with skill and without visible strain. The fifth kick gave Lei wings, and the flight landed him on the ground with a loud grunt, not unlike the one he had induced from Hwoarang. His head cleared, and through an elaborate pattern that spoke of years of training and very little drinking, detective Lei was back on his feet again. A satisfied look lit his face. His feet never ceased moving.

Hwoarang reciprocated the smirk. This was going to be fun.

* * *

It was great fun, though Lei Wulong of the Hong Kong Police might not have shared the sentiment at the time. They were evenly matched, and Lei even seemed to have the upper hand until one of his elaborate patterns failed him. Mid-movement, Hwoarang managed a kick to his chest that sent Lei virtually jumping up in the air. That second, Hwoarang knew his moment had come. The moves were so clear to him that Lei's flight seemed to slow down. He knew how this was going to end.

With practiced ease, like he had all the time in the world, Hwoarang dropped on the ground and braced himself up on one arm; his foot connected to Lei's midriff; his knee flexed to brace the impact before his joints tensed to an entire new effort and his muscles exploded and thighs sought the support of his body in a massive shove.

The spectators only saw one fluent motion that seemed skillfully choreographed to them. Braced on the ground, Hwoarang caught Lei Wulong mid-flight and sent him flying over his head with a bicycle kick. The travel through the air lasted an impossibly long time and landed Lei on the ground with a thud.

Hwoarang wasn't in a hurry anymore. He took his time to stand and straighten himself up. As the clock ticked seconds to ruling the fight for a knockout, he made his way over to Lei. Lei was moving weakly and gathering himself together, but he wasn't going to make it on time.

A wave of satisfaction washed over Hwoarang. A grin, not an entirely pleasant one, flashed across his face. "Looks like you aren't better than me," he said and sat down on Lei's back, earning a moan and an _UMPF!_ "Looks like your special moves ain't that special."

Life was good.

* * *

The euphoria carried well into the evening. Nothing could dampen Hwoarang's spirits, when he finally strolled to their room freshly showered but in old clothes he sought to be rid of. As he entered the room with a knock, he discovered Jin in bed already. It was dark outside, but the reading lamp, directed to the wall, gave the room just enough light without being harsh on the eyes.

As he entered, Jin looked at him. "Hi."

"Hi," Hwoarang said with a look that mirrored the dark warmth Jin's eyes cast upon him.

"Well played."

"Thanks." Hwoarang was beginning to feel like a downright dope, grinning like a lunatic, but he couldn't help himself. Luckily, an amused look was playing on Jin's visage as well, so he wasn't the only idiot in the room. He pushed the gear bag out of his hands and dug into his suitcase. He found the sweats and the underwear. "I'm just going to change."

He would have taken it to the bathroom without a second thought, but Jin propped himself up on his elbow and turned on his side to look at him. "Do it here?"

It was a request, and Jin's voice was suggestive. Hwoarang wasn't planning to disclose how that vibrating, low voice heated him. "Perv."

"Still?" Jin sounded pleased with himself.

Hwoarang shot Jin a reproachful look. "Fine."

Jin looked even more smug in return. He had the perfect sideways view, as Hwoarang kept facing the wall and the suitcase. He removed the goggles. He opened the clips that secured the leather vest at the top and bottom and unzipped the vest. He divested it easily. With a sideways glance at Jin, whose undivided attention he had, he pulled on a fresh sleeveless shirt.

The shoes and straps of his pants took more time, and Jin followed his every movement. Hwoarang pulled the shoes off and arranged them neatly, side by side. His hands went to the belt buckle, which came open with a clank. He unzipped and shed the jeans, which he folded on a chair.

The underpants were next. Jin perked up, hoping to catch a glimpse of Hwoarang's shaft. His efforts were rewarded when the member flickered into sight as Hwoarang raised his feet to work his legs out of the old pair and into the new one. Further peeks were not forthcoming, and Jin sank back with a disappointed sigh.

"Pervert."

"Still."

The sweatpants were pulled on to secure the important parts, and then Hwoarang was done.

Jin moved toward the wall on the bed and raised the blanket invitingly. It only occurred to Hwoarang then that Jin was naked from the waist up. Jin had taken a break from his trademark shirtlessness when they had started bunking together, but the shirt had been left behind tonight. The raised blanket that had been wrapped around Jin's waist now revealed the dark, loose pants he wore. It made Hwoarang almost feel overdressed, but he went to the bed and slipped under the blanket, which came to shelter them both from the waist down.

Jin was lying on his side, and Hwoarang faced him. They had space between them, but it was too much for Hwoarang to look Jin in the eye, and he kept exploring Jin's cheekbones, his nose, and his mouth instead. His eyes roamed anywhere but to Jin's.

Jin reached a hand and touched the side of his neck shyly. His touch was chaste and light as a feather, but it told Hwoarang everything he needed to know. He realized that maybe he wasn't the only one at a loss here and perhaps Jin was just as hesitant to explore this. He also realized they both wanted this just as badly.

A smile on his lips—a genuine one this time—Hwoarang leaned forward to kiss Jin. The lips that melded with his were perfect: firm, yet soft. They weren't unpleasantly wet, but they weren't too dry, either. He broke the kiss with a soft smack and started another one, savoring the feel and Jin's closeness and scent. Jin tasted good.

He reached a hand to Jin's bare chest and felt Jin's skin shiver under his touch. He waited to see if Jin was fine with it. When the soft, inviting moan came, he began to trace his pectoral muscles with his fingertips. Jin felt good.

They inched closer. Their position was slightly awkward, as they lay on their sides, face to face. Yet, little by little, the tender kisses deepened, and Hwoarang's hands were bolder to caress Jin's chest. In turn, Jin's fingers slipped under Hwoarang's shirt and felt their way up his stomach muscles to his chest, the entire time careful, as though expecting the permission to explore to be revoked any time. By the time his inquisitive fingers traced the pectorals and found that caressing the nipples produced surprising results, their quiet exploration was not so quiet anymore. Small pants and gasps guided them, and the barriers were coming down with a crumple.

Hwoarang pulled back, savoring the taste of Jin's tongue on his. "Let me switch sides. Okay?"

Jin gave his consent and turned on his back to allow Hwoarang to skip over. Hwoarang was midway over when he realized he was straddling Jin, his groin straight above Jin's crotch. Jin was lying flat on his back beneath him, gazing up at him. He wondered how Jin felt about being under him. He lowered himself into a sitting position, while keeping a careful eye on Jin, but Jin's eyes shone star-bright up at him.

Hwoarang reached forward and bent down to kiss Jin. Jin's hands went up, but Hwoarang caught his arms by the wrists and brought them above his head. He explored his mouth gently and then released his hold, bracing himself against the bed instead. Jin smiled at him.

Jin's hands went to Hwoarang's sides and slid down to the waistband of his sweats. He pried the band open just enough to pull the last of the shirt hem out. As Hwoarang kept leaning over him with a kiss and rocked back and forth experimentally, Jin edged his shirt up and broke the kiss just long enough to pull the shirt off and mush it into a ball he threw aside.

Shirtless now, still straddling Jin's crotch, Hwoarang gave Jin a light peck before dropping onto his side, his back against the wall. Their mutual exploration resumed.

Hwoarang's fingers were playing with Jin's waistband. They ended a kiss, and Hwoarang pulled back. He pressed his palm onto Jin's chest. Slowly, he began to slide it down. The full press of the palm turned to a caress of his fingertips as he traced a line down to Jin's navel. They lingered there a moment and continued a course down the treasure trail until they met the waistband of his pants. Hwoarang looked Jin in the eye.

He traced his fingers down all the way along the front of Jin's pants. His touch was so light, he barely even felt the fabric brush against his fingertips, let alone anything underneath. He was asking for permission.

Jin's eyes followed the travel of his fingers, sought Hwoarang's for a moment, and then looked down to where the fingers lingered. Hwoarang felt they were still engaged in power games, where the asking and admission equaled to being the weaker party. Jin didn't share his notion. "Please," he breathed.

Hwoarang's hand remained transfixed where it was. His chest heaved. He retracted his hand from the front of Jin's pants and nudged his shoulder. "On your back," he mumbled in a shockingly steady voice.

Jin obliged and turned from his side onto his back. His eyes flickered briefly at Hwoarang before he closed them and arched back. Jin had beautiful eyes, Hwoarang realized: bedroom eyes. He moved closer and now realized the full advantage of his side switch: it had left his right hand completely free.

On his back, Jin waited calmly. Hwoarang's hand landed on his chest and drew a circle. His lips sought Jin's and connected with them briefly as he traced his hand down Jin's stomach and to his waistband. "You're sure?"

Jin nodded wordlessly and leaned back.

Hwoarang pried the waistband looser and slipped a hand under it. He moved his hand down the surface of the underpants until... _there_. Right there. Hwoarang's hand found Jin's perfectly aligned, silken length and slid along it. The most inessential things sprung to his mind, like the rasping noises his fingertips made as they grated against the stretchy cloth.

With a bump, his journey came to an end. Hwoarang slid his hand all the way down and cupped Jin's package. Jin's breathing sounded in his ears, heavy and anticipatory. Hwoarang luxuriated in the full feel in his hand, and his head nodded toward Jin's chest. Wisps of red landed to tease the skin there.

He retracted his hand, but only to the rim of the boxer briefs. A sideways glance revealed that Jin was arching, exposing his neck and enjoying himself, his eyes closed. Hwoarang slipped a hand in. He maneuvered along the skin and through the fine furring and onto the shaft and curled his fingers around it. He strained his upper body to plant a kiss on Jin's lips. Coordination proved to be troublesome, and his aim missed and went to the side of Jin's mouth. He could feel their mutual smiles and Jin's lips seeking his in the same uncoordinated manner. They shared a kiss, and then Hwoarang decided he should focus on the matters at hand.

The shaft in his grasp wasn't soft anymore. It wasn't his, but he knew what to do with it.

Hwoarang nudged the blanket off and pushed all clothing aside, exposing Jin. He grabbed a hearty hold of Jin's length and started stroking. The half-mast salute morphed into a full-blown erection, and Hwoarang's pride swelled. His assurance picked off with every throaty pant and involuntary, encouraging gasp of Jin's, and they emboldened him to pick up speed, his grasp slicker now. Jin wasn't the only one enjoying this; he had a firm appreciation for the length trapped in his fist.

The noises Jin was making intensified, and Hwoarang grinned to himself. The peak was near.

Mid-stroke, Jin's entire body tensed. Nothing held back the heated pulsating that coursed through his lower body and the feeling of overpowering euphoria. Heat rose only to his face, and yet spread all over his body.

Drops coated Hwoarang's hand, but he kept his hold and milked Jin gently. He continued the lazy strokes as the eruption passed, and Jin calmed down. Only then did he venture a look at Jin's face. He saw bliss.

Hwoarang's lips curled, and he dropped his mouth on Jin's chest and planted a kiss there. He still held onto Jin's length, his caresses now soothing, affectionate.

Jin was back with the living. He lifted his head up from the bed and smiled at Hwoarang.

"That's going to be a bitch to clean up," Hwoarang murmured.

Jin laughed shortly. When Hwoarang finally released him and pulled himself straight and against his side, he craned and planted a kiss on top of the red hair. It hit him that a hand was on his chest. "You did not just wipe your hand in my pants...," he said suspiciously. He didn't like the answering chuckle he got, but he couldn't have cared less. "I'm going to need a shower," he said with a sigh.

He was sad to leave the sated embrace, but he disentangled himself and pulled his pants up with a grimace. "I'm going to wash these." He scowled at Hwoarang, who was now the one lying on his side on the bed, looking smug. "And you can stop that."

The grin, if possible, grew brighter.

Jin shot him a nasty look that lacked any substantial threat. He searched for his towel and toiletries and slipped his shoes on. It was late at night, and he was decent enough to make the trip to the showers. Before leaving, he turned at Hwoarang, who returned the gaze. "Join me?"

* * *

The locker room was empty when Hwoarang entered it. His stroll down to the showers had been uninterrupted, and the house was hauntingly silent. After Jin had left with a repeated request for company, Hwoarang had lain still for a few minutes and given Jin a head start.

Now, as he looked around in the room full of empty lockers and open doors, he saw one that held Jin's belongings. It hadn't been necessary to secure the locker; they were the only ones up and about at this hour. He spotted wet clothes hanging: apparently, Jin had already rinsed or washed them. Feeling surreal, Hwoarang started removing his clothes.

He emerged into the showers with a towel wrapped around his waist the moment Jin was returning to the locker room. Jin was running his fingers through his hair, which spiked in glistening strands of black. His other hand held a towel in front of his crotch. At the sight of him, Jin stopped. He looked pleased.

Jin was dripping wet and smiling that enigmatic non-smile of his. He dropped the hand from his hair. The hand that held the towel went to the side, and the towel was dropped on the ground. Jin stood still, baring his all.

Hwoarang gulped. His eyes went to Jin's, but he averted them quickly. They traveled down the well-sculpted chest. His breathing became labored the further southward his gaze went. It had to be all in his head, or otherwise the whole world would have heard how the blood rushed in his veins. He hesitated around the navel. Even though he wanted to look, it didn't feel right to stare. He was able to push past the conventions of manners: Jin had given him permission. Jin was giving him permission.

He looked at the area that interested him the most, and even found the strength to take the tour all the way down. On his way back up, his gaze lingered on the privates, which Jin noted without further ado.

Jin was perfect, down to the tip of his penis. His build was symmetric, and physique asymmetric, the perfect way, where it counted. Hwoarang didn't know how he himself measured against perfection, and he was growing self-unconscious.

He would not be intimidated. He brought a hand to his waist, unwrapped the towel, and cast it aside. Then he waited, his head held up high and proud.

Jin's eyes roamed all around upper body until they settled on his stomach and traveled down. Once he got to the crotch, he stared shamelessly, unlike Hwoarang. He took in the rest of Hwoarang's figure, but his eyes returned to the spot. Hwoarang felt like strangling him, until Jin spoke, his voice warm. _"Niiiice."_

Jin held out his hands. Hwoarang accepted the invitation and approached until Jin's hands landed on his flanks and their heads tilted into a kiss. The palms glided further down to his waistline and held on, as Jin kissed him deeply. Slowly, Jin's hands encircled him and pulled him closer, until the fronts of their bodies connected.

It was a public shower, and anyone could have walked in on them as they stood locked in a wet embrace. Luckily, no outsiders came that night.

* * *

**Galactic thanks** to **Gypsie** for the proofreading!

**Revised** June 26, 2009.  
**Published** June 25, 2009.


	8. Baek Doo San

**Thank you** for reading, and thank you for all the favorable attention! Such nice feedback encouraged me to shorten my vacation a little and work on this chapter in July already. Before the publishing the next chapter on FanFiction, I finally hope to put the story up on AdultFanFiction, in preparation for things to come.

_Hwarang_ is an emulation of the native Korean pronunciation of Hwoarang. _Sa bum nim_ means _master_ or _instructor_.

* * *

**Chapter 8: Baek Doo San**

"Oh, no you don't!" Despite objecting, Hwoarang couldn't stop laughing as he and Jin wrestled on the bed, Jin intent on grabbing him, and he intent on diverting Jin. Not that he minded Jin's attempt to slide his hand down to the front of his pants and reciprocate for the earlier, but—as a question of principle—he had to protest some.

With the momentary distraction on his side, Jin finally succeeded in seizing a steady hold of Hwoarang and capturing him in his arms. His more subdued chuckling resonated with Hwoarang's as he held on, and Hwoarang finally eased into the touch and let himself be spooned. Satisfied, Jin snuggled closer and brought a hand to Hwoarang's stomach, waiting to see if it would be swatted away. It wasn't, and Hwoarang's craned his neck back toward him. Jin caressed him, each stroke of his hand more assuaging and brushing lower than the last.

The noise from next door stopped them short. The debauchery had been low-key, but now it was back with a vengeance. Hearing the sounds, Jin froze.

Hwoarang felt Jin tense behind him and bring to a grinding halt the nice things he had been up to. _So much for not caring what went on with Kazuya and company_. Carefully, Hwoarang pried loose from Jin's arms and turned on the other side to face Jin. When Jin finally looked at him, Hwoarang cracked a comforting smile. "Just ignore it," he said as he ran a hand at the back of Jin's neck.

Jin looked distressed despite his efforts, but Hwoarang wouldn't give up. "Hey—" He caressed Jin's face. "We can do better than that." _We are better than they._ The change wasn't instant, but eventually Jin gave him a wan twitch of his lips, and Hwoarang flashed a grin back at him.

The penetrating moan from behind the wall was too much, and they both shuddered. "For Chrissakes...," Hwoarang mumbled in embarrassment and rose like shot. A quick stride and very little warning preceded Hwoarang launching two vicious kicks on the wall, and this time, it was the wall that shuddered. "Bunch of sickos," he mumbled to himself as he leaned a hand on the wall. He was drawing heavy breaths and hanging his head down, and only remotely sensed Jin getting up from the bed. He became truly aware of Jin only when Jin stepped behind him and embraced him. The embrace wasn't about sexing him up; it was about comfort and affection, and Hwoarang leaned into it willingly.

They only had each other. Hwoarang had thought about it before, and every time he did, he became more convinced that they were up against the world, with only each other to depend on.

Without any family ties to speak of and everyone else gone... As Hwoarang trembled involuntarily and felt Jin clasp onto him tighter and press a cheek against his back wordlessly, he couldn't help thinking that maybe Jin felt the same way, too. As he felt Jin hold him—or, rather, hold onto him—his impression only strengthened. If only the circumstances had been on their side and this damn tournament had been over already... "Wish we could go away...," he said to himself.

"Hm?"

"Let's take a day off," Hwoarang said suddenly. "Get the hell away from here, from this tournament. Just for a day. Go away, anywhere. It's not like we had matches every day." His voice was taking an appealing note. The whimsical idea felt suddenly so crucial, and the thought that Jin might not want the same thing was frightening, even if he didn't want to admit it to himself.

Jin's lack of response was driving nails into his guts, but it was only in his head. In truth, Jin lifted his head from his back, the expression on his face unreadable. He held on even tighter when he finally said, in a dejected tone, "I can't. I have to— This tournament... it's too important. I have to be here."

Jin didn't want the same thing and was trying to let him off the hook easily. It was a kick in the gut, but Hwoarang tried not to show how it had shattered him. "Sure," he said, reaching for a normal voice. "It's not— it's fine." Damn, he was stuttering again. Jin had rubbed off on him already.

Jin tightened his hold. "Hwoarang, I must see this through. Doesn't mean I don't want to go," he spoke right next to Hwoarang's ear. Hwoarang wanted to bristle away, but Jin wouldn't let him go. Hwoarang couldn't know the stakes, but he couldn't let him get the wrong idea. Jin's arms were unyieldingly strong as he reached forward and planted a row of kisses along Hwoarang's neck. Hwoarang was tense at first, but Jin's relentlessness paid off, and he finally relaxed under the shower of affection. "Once this is over...," Jin started, and Hwoarang tensed involuntarily, "I'd like to go with you _more than anything_. Anywhere."

A moment ago, Hwoarang had been in the grips of humiliation from feeling rejected. Now, Jin had reversed the tables, and the feeling had vanished. He was growing hot all over from being desired and wanted and a dozen other things, all of which were bringing a revealing heat to his face and inciting him on the inside. "Mm-mm..."

He hadn't meant to make his acceptance so obvious, but Jin grinned triumphantly and delved into tracing his neck with his lips. Hwoarang lay back heavily, bracing himself against the wall with his hand, and accepted the attention. Eventually, they returned to a comforting, friendly embrace.

_Not that friendly._ "HEY."

"Yes?" Jin asked and raised a brow at Hwoarang, who had turned his head with a glare.

"Don't you dare."

"What?"

Hwoarang's eyes narrowed. "You know what."

Jin didn't look too sorry, and he failed to sound apologetic, too. "You mean this?" he said and, moving to grasp Hwoarang's hips, bumped his own into Hwoarang's rear again.

Hwoarang moaned despite himself before remembering to glare at Jin, who returned his look with a non-smile, all too pleased with himself. Hwoarang quickly suppressed the smirk that threatened to surface, but he was too late, and Jin spotted the look. The game was hopelessly lost, and Jin looked smug.

"Go to bed?" Jin suggested.

Hwoarang agreed and detached himself. On the way, he announced, "You're in front."

"Why?"

"I don't trust my ass with you," Hwoarang said with a growl and settled on the bed first, on his side, waiting for Jin to descend into his arms.

"It's a very nice ass," Jin tried, conciliatory.

"Don't you dare."

Jin sighed, but he moved to sit down on the edge of the bed. Before he settled, he bent down and kissed the slightly resisting Hwoarang deeply. Their lips came apart with a breathless smack, and then Jin obediently lay on his side and waited for Hwoarang to snuggle him. "Good night?" he tried.

"Shut the hell up and sleep, Kazama."

* * *

He was late. At the least, he was cutting it close to make it to the match. He had woken with a stiff shoulder, and Jin had offered to give him a massage. Thinking the guy must have ulterior motives, he had accepted.

As it turned out, Jin had really been offering him a massage, which meant he now had a usable shoulder but he was going to the fight unprepared. Once he had realized the time, he had thrown the gear on in a hurry and donned a fresh uniform. It was all Jin's fault that his muscles had jammed. He was there to be cuddled, after all.

Hwoarang breathed deeply. He had to clear his mind and calm down for the fight. He didn't even know his opponent's name and had to go in cold. At least he had the location right, and for the rest, he had to rely on his skills and mad intuition to improvise.

Hwoarang made it to the stage, a pseudo-ancient structure of ballast and monuments of stone... and stopped dead in his tracks. It couldn't be.

It wasn't possible.

But then the hallucination spoke, and the impossible became his nightmare of a reality. "Why are you here, _Hwarang_?"

Hwoarang could only gape at the very live, very real Baek Doo San, who looked at him with a deep frown. "Wha— how..." He shut his mouth abruptly. What did Baek mean, why was he here? Why was Baek here? How—

"Answer me," Baek said sharply.

It didn't make sense. It didn't make one bit of goddamn sense. "Master, I don't understand. I don't—" He couldn't understand any of this, and Hwoarang tried desperately make sense of this. "Master, why—?"

The bell rang, and the look in Baek's eyes hardened. "You are late, _Hwarang_. We will discuss this after the match. Fight me first." Hwoarang had no time to think before Baek launched into a run and finished it off with a kick. "Are you ready?"

_Ready? Ready for what?_ Hwoarang felt like an outsider in his own skin. He felt like he was watching a surreal, grotesque, and cruel play unfold before his eyes. His expression didn't betray the bedlam he was in; he still mastered the chaos to the outside eye.

He had to fight Baek. For a moment, Hwoarang considered throwing in the towel and beseeching the master for an explanation, but quitting wasn't in his nature. He couldn't let go of the tournament like that... His chest hurt like the devil under Baek's searing gaze, but he punched in the air and bowed, and the match was allowed to commence.

The name of the game became clear with the opening move. Hwoarang didn't want to start, and he didn't think to guard himself well enough; Baek landed a strike straight into his stomach, to the same spot Lei Wulong had hit. Hwoarang doubled over with a strangled cry and clutched his midriff. He couldn't lift his gaze for a moment, and missed the fleeting, hesitant look Baek gave him. He heard Baek's voice somewhere above him when the instructor spoke, but he didn't catch the quieter tone.

"If you will be in this tournament, you will fight properly. Rise and face me, Hwoarang."

Baek gave him an extra moment to recover, but then he launched for an attack, and Hwoarang found himself blocking Baek's kicks with difficulty. The master was fighting him for real... Hwoarang's heart sank further at the realization, and the carelessness cost him: Baek raised a foot to his abdomen and charged him, landing a combination of throw and kick that sent Hwoarang into the air. He hit the rocky ground dangerously and rolled backward, landing face flat.

The pain didn't anger him, and it didn't make him snap. Yet, as Hwoarang rose to his feet and looked Baek for a sign of something familiar and friendly—anything to tell him that this was only show to benefit the masses—and found none, he knew he'd pave his way to hell and fight back. Baek approached him again, strangely keen on the offensive rather than the defensive, the value of which he had time and again tried to instill in his students.

Hwoarang let him get close. As he blocked Baek's raised hand and grasped him by the arm, surprising his opponent as much as the audience, it was too late for Baek to counter him. Not even the brief moment when Hwoarang closed his eyes could distract the throw inculcated into his spine. _Forgive me_. Then Hwoarang spun around and landed a vicious kick at the back of Baek's neck, sending him headfirst onto the ground.

Hwoarang bounced on his feet, keeping up the momentum, and waited for Baek to rise... His brain was a jumbled mess, and the confused numbness was as painful as his aching gut.

Baek rose and took a stance that closely mirrored Hwoarang's, only his momentum had less bounce and his manner had seasoned sense to counter the raw pain of youth. Even as Hwoarang hoped that Baek would back down, that either of them would still withdraw from the match, Baek set out into a masterful combination of punches and kicks, which Hwoarang knew how to block save the last one, which hit him on the leg and took him down.

He diverted Baek's raised foot quickly, and instead, set out in an attack of his own, landing kick after kick on the instructor. The emotions were back, and he wished Baek would block him better. He spun around for a roundhouse kick that finished the form, and the sheer momentum overcame Baek's defense easily, sending him on his back onto the ground. Still Baek rose, and somewhere inside, Hwoarang's heart bled.

The next move was instinct and a gamble. As Baek rose once more and approached him, Hwoarang spun off his feet and formed an upturned V in the air. The risky move paid off, and Hwoarang's foot landed Baek's face without hindrance. Baek fell on the ground and remained there.

Baek still remained on the ground. Hwoarang waited further back, but as seconds passed, a look of incomprehension rose on his face. Suddenly, the bell rang and he was announced the winner through knockout. He had won.

But... how? He couldn't comprehend it. "Master?"

Baek didn't respond to him.

"_Sa bum nim_? _Sa bum nim_," Hwoarang pleaded. He remained transfixed on the spot, staring at Baek in shock. He couldn't go over to him; this was still the tournament, and he had to abide by the code.

The medics approached, unfazed. It sunk in that the cameras were still rolling and, to everyone else, this was all a show of grandeur and great entertainment. They were waiting for him to finish. Hwoarang executed his forms automatically and saluted the opponent. He bowed and brought his hand to his stomach as he did.

They were expecting him to clear the arena. It was a clean victory, and he had no reason to linger. Baek still hadn't risen, and the medics were setting him on a stretcher.

Even though his guts were wrenching, Hwoarang turned and left. His expression was as blank and forbidding as it had been through the match, and it would have taken a close acquaintance to discern the emotions that ran behind a mask. His mind was racing. Baek was alive... Baek lived, and was angry with him. How was it possible? What had he done?

The pathway looked watery in his eyes, but Hwoarang kept going. He had to get out of sight of cameras and from all those meaningless people. The commotion faded away, and he knew he would be alone until he would take the transportation back to the house. Hwoarang finally let himself blink several times until his sight cleared. He ran a hand through his hair roughly and rubbed a hand on the side of his face suspiciously close to the corner of his eye. _Why? What did I do wrong? What did I do? _

_Why didn't you tell me you were alive?_

Hwoarang drew a wheezy breath and blamed it on the fight instantly. It was just from the fucking exercise; he'd have to get a grip, or people would notice... He blinked rapidly; the landing pad was already in sight. He coughed his throat clear and strode straight into the helicopter. The wind from the helicopter pads penetrated his soaked hair and froze it onto his skull unpleasantly, and his eyes, unnaturally bright, had an oddly reddish shade to them, but it didn't make a difference to anyone.

* * *

He made it to the house without breaking down and rushed straight to his room. It barely registered how he brushed against someone and nearly knocked the other party over, earning an indignant, "Hey, mate!" He missed entirely how someone called after him.

The room was empty when Hwoarang stormed inside, and that was the way he wanted it. He slammed the door and flung himself onto the bed. He jerked the covers onto himself and buried himself in them, his back to the door. His stomach gave a nasty twinge, and he pulled his feet closer to his chest. Then, there was nothing for him to do but calm down.

The shaking caught him by surprise, or maybe he should have seen it coming; it fit the lousy tournament like a glove. Still, he hunched to himself more, made sure he was covered in full and as warm as possible, and tried to forget.

Hwoarang startled awake. He had dozed off, but it was still an early morning. He was fight-soaked, and... on cue, the hurt was back. He had the room to himself, but it didn't stop him from feeling cornered. He had to get out. Dulled, he pulled out a fresh change and personal items and headed for the showers.

* * *

Hwoarang was pushing his bike along the driveway, still not quite grasping his surroundings, when a familiar presence was suddenly beside him.

"Hwoarang. Wait."

It was Jin. Of course it was Jin; it always was. Jin was calling him by name, too... Hwoarang stopped unconsciously.

"Where are you going?" Jin was slightly out of breath.

The pebbles on the ground were too interesting. Hwoarang couldn't tear his eyes off them, even though he tried weakly to face Jin or at least speak in his general direction. "I'm gonna go to the city. Take a break from this." His voice sounded dull even in his own ears, and he pulled up straight. "Will you come? For one day. I'm gonna go in any case, even... _even if you don't_."

Jin appeared to be rooted to the spot, but his lack of response was answer enough for Hwoarang, who hung his head and turned away, miserable.

"I guess I'll see—"

Jin couldn't let this misunderstanding brew. "I'll come with you," he said earnestly.

* * *

**Cordial thanks** to **Gypsie** for the proofreading!

**Revised** August 28 and 31 and September 25, 2009.  
**Published** July 30, 2009.


	9. A Night in Town, AFF

Intimate Rivals continues. Many thanks for the reviews, not to mention rooting for the story otherwise! The chapter took long, but... _I'll take responsibility_.

**This chapter features romance at M rating.**

**This chapter is available on AdultFanFiction (AFF) as an explicit adult version, NC-17.**

* * *

**Chapter 9: A Night in Town**

_Hwoarang's not all right._ It was the first time that Steve had spoken to him since the incident, and Jin saw that he was edgy. Steve mumbled something about training or a game or a match—whichever it was, not a word had sunk in since Jin had puzzled out the message and the crippling dread had settled into his gut. Anything else had been meaningless, as Jin had embarked on a quest to find Hwoarang. The anxiety that had been building up exploded when he found the room empty, and none of the common areas showed signs of the redhead.

Now, Hwoarang drooped before him, but Jin's joy at finding him was short-lived. Something was so wrong; Hwoarang was wrong...

"I'll come with you," he repeated. "Will you wait for me here? I won't take two minutes."

Hwoarang looked through him miserably, but he nodded.

"Please wait," Jin said softly. With one last glance at Hwoarang, he charged to the house and made a straight course to their room. He shook his backpack empty and packed a change of clothes. He didn't think twice about going through Hwoarang's things and stuffing clothes for him in the bag. He flipped his wallet and phone on top of the pile and left.

He was back downstairs in record time. Just as he was about to zip through the front door, he caught a flash of blond out of the corner of his eye. He halted to see Steve Fox looking at him. He nodded his okay to Steve. Steve responded alike, but then looked away. Without a second glance, Jin strode on his way.

He had been anxious to get out, but relief washed over him when he found Hwoarang still there, sitting against a tree beside his bike and staring off into the distance. "Hey," he said quietly.

Hwoarang got up dejectedly. He went to the bike and grabbed the handles before taking a good look at Jin. "Fuck." The curse came out like a sob. "Fuck, I... I don't have a helmet for you." He looked Jin over so miserably, Jin's heart ached.

"You aren't using one," Jin pointed out, but Hwoarang waved him off.

"No, it doesn't matter. But I haven't got two, I've only one..." Where had he stuck the damn thing? It was somewhere in the house. He'd have to go back for it.

"It's fine. I don't need it," Jin tried.

Hwoarang looked undecided, but he shook his head in exasperation. No one cared if he cracked his skull, but Jin was different. "No, I—" He abandoned the bike and started for the house. He had to— He was stopped by Jin's grasping his arm.

"If you don't have a helmet, I won't take one. You can't change my mind... _no matter how much you argue_," Jin added, when Hwoarang looked about to talk back. His eyes were sympathetic, but his tone left no room for doubt.

No one else trusted him worth a damn, but Jin Kazama seemed to place faith in him beyond a motorcycle ride. Hwoarang quickly turned his head away. He also had the impression he wasn't going to win this time, and Jin was going to be as obstinate as he was. "Hold on tight, okay?" he said.

Hwoarang nudged the kickstand out of the way. He got on the bike and felt Jin mount behind him. Something occurred to him then. "You know how to ride a bike, Kazama?" he asked, and the corner of his mouth crept up.

"I'll try," Jin said just as good-humoredly, as Hwoarang started the engine.

"You can hold onto the bike...," Hwoarang started, but Jin had already grabbed the grips on the back. _...or me_. "Don't make any sudden moves."

With that, they took off. Hwoarang started slowly, acutely aware that he had a passenger whose thighs brushed against him, but when the bike advanced unfalteringly, and Jin gave no signs of falling off or leaning the wrong way to knock them both over, he gradually picked up speed. By the time they had navigated off the dirt roads on the estate and onto the main road, the current arrangement had proven to work, and Hwoarang accelerated to road speed.

* * *

They had been riding for half an hour. The roads were empty, and driving took little concentration. The endless straight lanes were nothing but tree-lined routes, void of people and distractions, and they gave Hwoarang time to think. The more his thoughts progressed nowhere, the more cornered he felt. He kept his eyes on the road so tightly, it hurt. He blinked against the sting in his eyes, but it didn't help. The moment he woke to driving on the left side and barely stopped himself from switching to the right, he knew he had to take a break.

He pulled over to the first rest area he saw. It was a cozy little spot by the woods, just as abandoned and forsaken by God as they and everything they had passed by so far. Jin rose from behind him as he parked the bike. "Sorry. I just had to, uh, go." He hoped Jin mistook his vagueness for a need to piss and took off. He kept going until he was sure the trees covered the view from the roadside. Then, he strode off some more until he dropped on the ground, sat against a tree trunk with his back to the road, drew his knees to his chest, and closed his eyes.

* * *

He didn't know how long he had been sitting there. Time had stood still to him and left scratch marks on his heart with each tick and every tock, but time must have passed. His eyes shot open, and he woke to the world at the sound of quiet footsteps stopping by his side. He knew without looking who it was.

"What's wrong?"

Jin's voice was infinitely kind, but Hwoarang couldn't face him. He tried, but he faltered midway and drew his head the other way sharply and shook it. He didn't want Jin to see him like this, but there was nothing he could do to prevent it. He had lost his dignity and Jin's respect, and all that the once-unbeatable Blood Talon could do was look the other way.

He more sensed than saw Jin kneel, and he shook his head again, distressed. He wanted to be left alone. A hand landed to his bicep, but he recoiled from Jin's touch and shoved the hand away. His breaths were coming out in shakes, and he was losing the battle. He couldn't take Jin's kindness on top of everything else.

Then, just as he thought he had hurt Jin's feelings to make him go away, and just as he was about to hate himself more for it, Jin wrapped his arms around him. "No..." He tried to pry himself away, but Jin wouldn't let go.

Hwoarang wanted to push him off, but he couldn't. "No," he choked. "Don't."

"I won't say anything." Jin's voice was shaky.

That did it. Hwoarang buried his head into Jin's shoulder and gripped him like a lifeline. Jin embraced him tightly, heedless to the almost-painful strength Hwoarang grasped him with, and rested his head beside Hwoarang's.

Hwoarang didn't cry. He didn't shake uncontrollably, but he did hold on to Jin tight enough to dig his fingertips into Jin's back through the jacket and carve red pressure marks that faded away quickly. Jin simply held on, offering his body for a sanctuary. At some point, he drew a hand to the back of Hwoarang's neck and stroked the short hairs there while burrowing deeper.

The instant Hwoarang showed signs of wanting to detach, Jin carefully released him and drew back. He waited at an arm's length, mindful to turn a blind eye to Hwoarang's efforts to compose himself. That was when he first noticed a tremble. "You're cold," he said sadly and ran a palm along Hwoarang's bicep down to his forearm. The goose bumps were tangible.

Hwoarang looked abashed. "Yeah, well..." Jin's palm was warm and felt good on his bare arm. Jin was warm and felt good all over him. He knew Jin was averting eye contact to avoid embarrassing him, and that felt incredibly good. He felt good. "I better get up," he said. He was sheepish and yet felt oddly euphoric.

Jin rose first. Once on his feet, he offered a hand to Hwoarang, who accepted it and was hoisted up in one strong pull. Their joint coordination was flawless. Hwoarang took a couple of steps back and forth before swiping his behind clean of grass and undergrowth. Standing at full height, as equals now, he and Jin finally ventured a look in each others' eyes. Jin gave a small, sympathetic smile. Almost without volition, they wrapped their arms around each other; Hwoarang entwined an arm around Jin's shoulder, while Jin wrapped both his arms around Hwoarang's back. They locked into an embrace.

Hwoarang's breath sounded right in Jin's ear, warm and wet. He squeezed Jin's shoulder. Then, he unexpectedly placed a kiss on Jin's cheek and loosened his hold, and Jin understood. Hwoarang raised a brow and nodded toward the road, and Jin inclined his head. They started back to the rest area side by side.

"Fuck... do you suppose someone's stolen the bike by now?" Hwoarang ran hands along his arms and forearms and sneezed. _That would be a riot._

"Unlikely. I took the keys," Jin confessed. He dug the set out of his pocket.

"Hm. Smart," Hwoarang complimented. "Thanks." He held a hand out.

Jin delayed. "Maybe you'd like me to drive, if you're not feeling well?" he said and cast Hwoarang a sideways glance.

As expected, Hwoarang sprung to life instantly. "Hand 'em over, Kazama!" he sputtered.

Jin complied, and Hwoarang glared at him hard, still scandalized. They walked on before Hwoarang's head jerked suddenly and his eyes shot to Jin. He gave a hard look, but then he had to watch his step. When he turned again, a smirk was tugging at his lips. Jin's eyes were searching for his. In unison, they exchanged grins.

They made it to the bike, which waited where they had left it. Jin's backpack rested against the back tire, untouched as well. They were still as secluded as ever: safe, if somewhat abandoned.

While Hwoarang strolled to the other side, Jin dug into the bag. "Here," he presented his findings.

Hwoarang gaped. "You have my jacket?"

It was Jin's turn to look bashful. "I went through your things. Forgive me. I thought you'd need it."

"No, no... Dig all you want," Hwoarang said in surprise. He donned the jacket and literally sighed in relief when it covered his arms. "Thanks, Jin. I didn't really think it through..." He quickly zipped the front. He was feeling warmer already, but it wasn't from the jacket.

Jin's anxiety melted into relief. He waited until Hwoarang had finished securing the fastener that protected his neck from the wind.

"So... are we still going to the city?" Hwoarang asked all too casually for someone so engrossed in fixing his sleeve cuff. "Are you really okay with missing a day? I know it wasn't your plan."

"I think we should," Jin said honestly. "I'd like that."

"Me, too." Hwoarang flashed a quick smile. "It's going to take a couple of hours still, if we take these roads. Is that fine? With the helmets and all, I think we should keep a low profile." He brushed a hand through his hair.

"Fine by me," Jin agreed.

Having reached agreement, they mounted the bike and took off. The road speeds were still as ridiculous as before, but Hwoarang was in different spirits now. They had the whole day to themselves. It hit him that he was really going somewhere with Jin, away from the fighting circles. They were doing things together, like a real couple. He was still glad Jin couldn't hear his thoughts or see the light flush on his face.

They rode on, incident-free just like before, until after some ten minutes of riding, Jin let go of the grips and wrapped his arms around Hwoarang's waist. Some time later, on the isolated roads, he rested his head to Hwoarang's back.

* * *

They stopped for gas at a self-service station, and that was the last event before they neared their destination. Jin pulled himself upright, seeking a hold of the bike again. Hwoarang parked on the outskirts of the city, and they set out on foot. Hwoarang fished a bandanna out of his pocket and covered his head; Jin, in turn, veiled his visage with a hood. They weren't overly concerned about being recognized, but they hoped to avoid awkward questions from being seen in town—or together—in the middle of the tournament.

They hadn't really had a plan for the day, but they ended up going to the gym. The unanimous choice was easy to make, though it sparked sly smirks and quips thrown back and forth about the "day off." Working out was something they both enjoyed, though, and the discovery of decent sweats for the both of them in Jin's haphazard packing sealed the deal.

The food court they went to afterward catered to several varieties of Asian cuisine: Korean, Japanese, Chinese, Malaysian, and Indonesian. Of the same mind, they sampled a set of portions and crowded a booth between the two of them. When put together, the amount of food incited a set of guilty looks and self-conscious grins. Hwoarang put an end to the awkwardness.

"I don't know about you, but I haven't had a decent meal in days." He dug into his dish with enthusiasm that mesmerized Jin for a moment. A sampling of spicy stew, along with a helping of rice, got harvested and placed into Hwoarang's mouth in record time. His eyes fluttered for a moment. "Damn, that feels good. So, what I'm saying is I'm not counting." He flashed a grin and attacked another box.

Jin couldn't help to be amused, but he silently agreed, and Hwoarang's heartiness spurred him to dig into his food with a grin.

They ate in comfortable silence, even venturing to sample each other's portions and feeling oddly shy when they realized they were doing it. Other people ate and set out on their way, but they were free to indulge in dining out in peace. They occupied the booth by themselves, and if their hands touched accidentally as they were eating and their knees brushed against each other's, for two big guys like them, it was only natural.

* * *

"We should head back," Hwoarang said and glanced at Jin. The evening had descended early. "It's still a ways back if we want to make it before the night."

Jin seemed restless when he nodded. He searched the sky, but beyond the city lights, the sky was relentlessly dark and gave him no answers.

"I've had some to drink, but I'm not too drunk to drive," Hwoarang ventured.

To suggest that Hwoarang could be drunk was an obvious lie, and they both knew it. They had gone to a bar and spent nearly two hours talking back and forth. They had struck common ground about training, and the talk had expanded to any martial arts from there. Jin had evaded questions about his changed fighting style, but they had shared stories and had a few good laughs in cozy camaraderie. Nothing too personal, but just nice, casual, and friendly. Not even the occasional silence had discomfited them. Amid the chatting, Hwoarang had barely touched his beer, and Jin's had lain just as deserted, along with the other drinks they had ordered to stay in the barkeep's good graces.

"Unless... unless you want to stay here for the night. Get a room, sleep a good night. Leave in the morning." He felt calm suggesting it, but he couldn't tell what Jin was thinking. "We could just go to sleep without someone making a noise next door. But... hey, let me hit the bathroom. Let's decide then," Hwoarang said and disappeared into the public toilet he had set his sights upon. It wasn't an excuse; he really had to go, but as he found himself washing his hands for the third time, he couldn't help thinking that maybe he was stalling a little.

Jin was waiting for him outside once he returned. Hwoarang noticed he looked a little apprehensive, and he couldn't help feeling a tinge of sadness, even if he put on a brave face. They stepped out of the way.

Jin looked and sounded so hesitant, Hwoarang didn't grasp at his words at first. "I saw a vending machine over there," he said quickly and placed a fistful of stuff into Hwoarang's palm.

Hwoarang accepted the offering without thinking before taking a look. He stared at the items on his palm in incomprehension. Then, realization hit: Jin had given him a packet of condoms. Blinking, he rolled the other item in his fingers, a little too long and openly. The tube only had Japanese script on it. _It had to be—_ Hwoarang's eyes shot at Jin.

He realized he was staring when Jin's resistance finally broke and he looked like he wished the ground would swallow him up. He seized Jin by the arms, startling him. He had never wanted to kiss anyone so badly, but they were in public. "We get a room." The thought made his heart flutter from joy.

Before his eyes, Jin's countenance changed. Delight replaced the awkwardness, and Hwoarang got a timid nod. His urge to want to kiss Jin didn't diminish, onlookers be damned, but he settled on running his hands along Jin's arms earnestly before pulling back.

He was making a scene out of this. People did this sort of thing all the time; it wasn't that big a deal. He pocketed the goods with an embarrassed laugh, but as he looked at Jin and saw those beautiful bedroom eyes, he knew it was a big deal. "Let's go," he said gently and pulled Jin by the arm.

"Should we get your bike first?" Jin asked.

"Screw the bike."

"What?" Motorcycles had been a part of their conversations more than once.

Hwoarang grinned at Jin's upshot brows. "It's rental; I didn't bring mine here. It's going to be fine overnight, right? So, we get it in the morning."

"If you say so..."

"I say so. Besides, I'm not thinking about the bike now," Hwoarang assured, sure to sound as sly as he could.

Jin, in turn, looked pleased if bashful.

* * *

A suitable hotel was found on foot. They steered clear of the neon-signed love hotel offering "rest" with unanimous bashfulness and went on until a reasonable, Western-style hotel chanced in view. They got the room easier than Hwoarang had fathomed. He had been prepared to fabricate a background story—they were here on a sporting tournament, the airline had lost their luggage, and they were just looking for a place for the night. Why not share a room, if it wasn't a bother? In the end, they barely got a glance from the front desk manager—or, more precisely, Hwoarang was barely given the time of day—while Jin spoke and settled the payment for the both of them. They got the key card and were left to find their own way to the eighth floor.

The frenzy had been building all day, but it was unleashed as soon the elevator doors closed. Hwoarang pushed Jin into the wall and kissed him like a starving man, and Jin responded with equal passion. The bling from the elevator made them freeze, and Hwoarang pulled back quickly. They counted their lucky stars when no one was waiting on the other side of the door.

They rushed along the corridor to their door. Jin fumbled with the key card and couldn't get the door opened at first. His haste increased when Hwoarang pressed against him and rocked his hips to his backside. Hwoarang was kissing his neck when he finally worked out the door, and they scurried in. The door was kicked shut in an afterthought, and then nothing could hold them back. Hwoarang advanced on Jin, who let himself be caught against the wall with a moan, quickly suppressed to their mutual satisfaction when Hwoarang kissed him. Jin tilted his head to match, and the feverish sucking diminished into slower and more sensual, pleasurable kissing. Jin could feel Hwoarang smiling into the kiss before pulling off and releasing him with a slow, longing stroke to his side and an almost shy, tentative look into his eyes.

Hwoarang's voice was a whisper. "Will you let me... can I do you?"

Jin's pulse was racing. He looked somewhere past their feet and nodded. They were standing little apart, and he heard acutely how Hwoarang breathed out shakily, and he felt a hand on his chest. He ventured a look, and the wanting he saw made a flush creep to his face. "Let me w-wash up," he hemmed. Hwoarang let him go with a light brush to his neck, and Jin slipped away and into the bathroom.

Once alone, Hwoarang breathed in deep and focused on his heart's pounding. He was glad Jin hadn't made a note of it, although the sound must have been loud enough for everyone to hear. He went to experiment with the light switches and managed to bring about a matte mood lighting. He looked around at the bedroom area for the first time and realized why their room-sharing had flown so smoothly: the furniture in point of interest consisted of two neat single beds. He sank onto the nearest one with a self-conscious laugh; they seemed to have ways to learn yet about handling these things. The beds alone or together still beat their regular accommodation. He emptied his pockets on the bedside table and stuffed the bandanna out of the way.

He got up and tugged the coverlet off. He folded it conscientiously and placed it on the back of a chair. With a second thought, he pulled the sheets open and folded a corner, and then he sat down to wait.

Jin returned shortly, and they had a moment of awkwardness with bumping into each other, getting rid of jackets and shoes, but they ended up standing in the same spot at the same time. The lighting was pleasantly dim and the air inviting.

"We took two beds?" Jin noticed with a start.

Hwoarang grinned. "I know. I didn't think of it, either." His voice grew huskier and lower. "It's still good."

They were really going to do this. It was a tickling and, yet, an intimidating thought. The only way to go about it was to dive in headfirst and go with the feeling. Hwoarang searched for Jin's eyes and dipped his head for a soft kiss. Jin melted against his lips, so warm and so endlessly desirable, affection washed over Hwoarang's gut in heated waves.

The lust was quickly taking over. The kisses grew hastier and rougher and their heart rates picked up; the craze was taking over with each anxious touch. Hands found their ways to fasteners. The space between them grew momentarily as they removed their shirts, but the gap closed when Hwoarang lunged at Jin again. They wrapped themselves in a naked embrace that almost knocked them both over when they forgot to pay attention to their balance. Yet, Hwoarang wasn't worried: Jin wouldn't break on him.

Hwoarang ran his fingers steadily along the back of Jin's neck. He was engulfed in kissing Jin over and over again and being kissed back with ardor that few could have imagined the stoic Jin Kazama to possess. Jin's hands were pulling his body so close that the pants they still wore could no longer hide their bodies responding.

Their hands went to their flies in one accord, and they started unzipping and tucking their pants down. Their knuckles chafed against each other involuntarily, earning a titter from Hwoarang, who was glad the dark was hiding the red on his face, even if he still felt it acutely. He doted on Jin with a light peck on the lips before focusing firmly on the tenacious straps of his pants. His face felt heated all over, especially since Jin had already cast off his clothes and was standing next to him, observing him with interest. Pleasing though it was, it wasn't helping with the self-consciousness. Yet, Jin was running warm balms all across his skin where he could reach. Hwoarang cursed his choice of pants profoundly and attacked the straps again.

Finally, he was freed from the pants and underwear, and could rise to face Jin again. Both of them were painfully erect and equally flushed and none the less apprehensive. "Take it to bed... it's more comfortable."

Jin took the lead and climbed in. After slight apprehension, he lay on his back openly.

Hwoarang pried the hem of the sheet open and slipped a foot over Jin. He then lifted himself on top, keeping a careful eye on any adverse reactions and mindful not to lie too heavily on top. They had done this before, but they hadn't been quite so aroused then or quite so... nude. He was acutely aware of Jin making a small guttural noise when their bodies connected. Jin shifted, causing delicious friction.

With trial and error, they found a way to fit their limbs in an entwinement that didn't risk neutering either of them. Only did then Hwoarang lean down, supporting his upper body with his arms and resting everything from the waist down atop Jin, and started a slow and painstaking torture on Jin's mouth.

Slowly, he began tracing down a line of kisses along the side Jin's face and down to his neck. Warm and fond, he lavished Jin's neck with sucks and licks and kisses, to Jin's pleasure. He hit the spot when Jin gave a stifled gasp and moved under him. He only agreed to leave the area when he had Jin purring at the attention. He lapped his way down to Jin's collarbone, slipping out of the weak grasp Jin had on his buttocks, and moved down to work on his chest. Jin squirmed under him and rewarded him with weak murmurs that turned into nonsensical mumbles.

Hwoarang shifted so that he could fit a hand down and started tugging at Jin's erection. He allowed his own member attention only in passing, but focused on Jin's heartily. The mumbles transformed into short-winded pants.

Hwoarang kept stroking, but he pulled himself back up to eye level with Jin. He hovered over Jin uncertainly, but then he pushed himself up on his arms. "How do you feel? Think we could—" ..._fuck, screw, go all the way, make love..._ "—you know?" He had the naked Jin Kazama pinned flat beneath him, and trouble believing it.

There was definite rose on Jin's cheeks now. "Yeah."

Hwoarang surged down and captured his lips with a smack. They sucked into the joining of lips almost desperately, without holding back. Hwoarang broke the kiss, panting audibly, and raised his upper body. He had been rocking his pelvis against Jin. He quickly stopped the movement he hadn't realized having been doing.

Hwoarang flopped himself over to the side of the bed, reaching for packet and tube he had set aside earlier. He made it back to the end of the mattress, guarding his erection a little awkwardly. He tested the waters as nonchalantly as he could. "Hey... Do you suppose you should, umm, you know, face down?"

"I... I should," Jin mumbled and scrambled up, while Hwoarang handled the packet. He set himself on hands and knees, but then bit his lip and sat on his knees, glimpsing over his shoulder.

Hwoarang nudged him lightly. "Okay," he said, and Jin positioned himself again. Once Jin's scrutiny was off him, he applied the condom carefully, grateful to remain so hard it ached, and uncapped the bottle. His hands were trembling as he squeezed translucent gel on the palm of his hand and smoothed it over the head of his penis. He realized that wasn't enough and pinched more onto his fingers. He daubed some on Jin's posterior and retracted his fingers quickly.

"All right... here we go," Hwoarang said and discarded the bottle. He brushed his hands on the sides of Jin's hips and took his cock in his right hand. On his knees, he edged closer to Jin's backside.

On all fours, Jin felt the slippery head press against him, and then slowly start to pry its way in. He inhaled sharply and hung his head. "Wait!"

Instantly, the pressure was relieved. "What's wrong?" Hwoarang asked worriedly.

Jin looked at him over his shoulder, but quickly returned to staring at the headboard. "Could... could we do it face to face?" Jin said in a small voice.

Hwoarang breathed out in relief. "Of course we can." He patted Jin's back, almost giddy. "You might need to turn around for that." He felt like hugging the guy and laughing his heart out. Kazama could be so damn Kazama at times.

Jin turned over, knees bent, glancing up at Hwoarang anxiously. Hwoarang pried his legs gently apart despite the slight resistance and leaned over all the way. He brought his lips upon Jin's quickly. He rose back up to find Jin more relaxed, legs on both of his sides. He petted Jin's knees soothingly and glanced down. "I'm gonna need more room." He looked around. "I know. Lift up a little."

He proceeded to stuff the blanket under Jin's hips until he deemed him sufficiently upraised. He was anxious to proceed, but at the same time, Jin was lying before him, exposed and vulnerable. He brought a hand on Jin and ran an arch along the chest muscles and down to the curves of his stomach, finally landing to cup his genitals, and give a stroke on his penis flopped against his stomach. He gently coaxed Jin to raise his legs up against him. "Okay, baby?" he said with a small smile.

Jin nodded.

"All right. Let's go..." Hwoarang said and readied himself, while Jin took a deep breath and leaned his head back, letting his eyes drift half-closed.

* * *

"Hwoarang? Are you all right?"

He couldn't believe Jin was asking him that when he should have been the one to ask Jin. Hwoarang shook with the emotion.

The overload of his senses had him incapacitated. An awareness of his surroundings returned by degrees, and he finally managed to emit a strangulated sound.

Hwoarang startled to reality: he was crushing Jin. "I'm sorry," he mumbled and pushed himself up to support his weight. Very carefully, he detached himself, earning a sigh from the both of them. He scrambled to his feet. "Gimme a sec." He couldn't believe how woozy he was, and he hoped fervently that the weakness would taper off. He struggled to the bathroom.

A while later, he returned, looking much less disorientated, and scrambled back on the bed over Jin, even though he could have crossed to the other side more easily. While climbing over, he halted to smile at Jin, and Jin heaved a sigh of relief. Hwoarang dropped on his back unceremoniously.

He turned his head, and when Jin looked back at him, he touched the side of Jin's face, a smile on his own. Still smiling, he withdrew his hand and let his head drop on the pillow.

Neither of them spoke, and the descent into silence was sudden and total. Time passed.

"Hwoarang?" Jin whispered.

Hwoarang didn't respond.

"Hwoarang?"

Jin waited, but nothing broke the silence. Jin raised himself on his elbow... and blinked. And blinked again.

Facing away, Hwoarang was fast asleep.

Jin looked at him in stupefaction, but he had to believe his eyes: Hwoarang was sleeping soundly and silently. Jin sucked at his lower lip and stared ahead of him. He tore his eyes off the wall and swerved off the bed. He swayed until he found his feet and winced as he did. With a look back, he floundered in Hwoarang's earlier trail.

In the bathroom, he cleaned up and took a moment. He returned to a hushed room that had remained the same in his absence.

Jin fumbled to the backpack and pulled out a pair of black sweats. He looked at his weeping erection sadly and pulled the pants on quickly. He took out another pair of pants and laid them on the bed. He moved to the bedside and pulled the covers over Hwoarang securely. Then, Jin lay down on the other bed and didn't know what to think.

* * *

**Big thanks** to **Gypsie** for the proofreading!

**Published** November 22, 2009.


	10. No Hard and Fast Rules, M

Thank you for the reviews, signed and anonymous, newcomers and recurring guests! Your attention and encouragement are much appreciated. We move on to the two-digit chapters, starting with one-oh. All reading, thanks for tuning in!

Find of the month from the Urban Dictionary is the following term for a semi-erection: bonerang.

**This chapter features romance at M rating.**

* * *

**Chapter 10: No Hard and Fast Rules**

Jin threw the towel aside and supported himself against the bathroom counter. The light was dim and merciful on the eyes, and he studied himself in the mirror. The familiar reflection studied him back, unchanged. He wondered how he could look the same when he felt so different.

A knock came at the door. "Can I come in?"

Jin straightened up. "Yes."

Hwoarang slipped in. Now wearing dark sweats that landed low on his hips, he looked sleep-ridden and barely out of bed. He blinked against the light, but approached, eyeing Jin through the mirror. "I woke up, and you weren't there..." He went to the sink and brushed against Jin lightly. "Sorry, let me just..."

Jin moved, and Hwoarang washed his hands. He grabbed the towel Jin had discarded and then straightened it neatly on the rack with the clean towels. Jin shifted unconsciously back to the counter, drawn by the mirror.

"How are you feeling?" Hwoarang licked his lips and stared at the floor.

"I'm fine," Jin soothed.

Hwoarang moved to his back and brought a hand to his side. Jin inclined his head toward him, and Hwoarang inched closer, keeping a careful eye on any adverse reactions. Hwoarang ran a hand along his waist. He was now so close that Jin could feel the heat of his body prickle his own skin.

"Jin, baby, I'm sorry... I passed out on you." Hwoarang couldn't believe he had just... rolled over and fallen asleep. He didn't expect Jin to forgive him easily, either; he had no right to expect any goodwill his way. His grasp tightened. _Doesn't mean I won't try._

That was the second time Hwoarang had called him "baby." A smile crept to Jin's face. "It's fine," he said. He wasn't yet sure if he understood what all the fuss was about with sex, but he could let that pass. Even though the end result had been somewhat one-sided, he had never been so close to anyone, so connected to another person. It was something to be proud of, even, to so completely deplete a partner in bed, though he suspected it had been due to the day taking its toll rather than thanks to him.

Hwoarang watched him anxiously through the mirror, but then he fixated on the hand soap dribbling on the counter. The fingers that still danced on Jin's sides trembled visibly, but determinedly kept on caressing the naked skin. "Did it— did it hurt?"

Yes, it had hurt. The transient pain had been hell, but Jin hadn't really cared about that. He had seen how Hwoarang had looked at him, and he would have let himself been torn apart. The closeness had been incredible. Maybe he could see what the rest of the world was talking about. And, it hadn't been all bad... "It was a little uncomfortable," he finally admitted.

Hwoarang hugged Jin from behind and placed a kiss to his shoulder blade. "I'm sorry."

Jin smiled with a shake of his head as he turned toward Hwoarang. Dark profile carved an elegant portrait on the mirror.

Hwoarang spoke again, "Will you come to bed with me?"

This time, not long passed before Jin nodded. Warm breath alternatively warmed and cooled the spot on his back where the lips had touched. Hwoarang gave him a gentle squeeze and let go. He was prepared to leave the room to Jin, but there was something still unsaid, and the need to speak up was becoming more urgent. Hwoarang was already stepping away when Jin got it out. "Hwoarang. It was a first."

He had had no idea how Hwoarang would to react, and his heart jumped when Hwoarang stopped dead in his tracks. Then, Hwoarang was back to embracing him and kissing his shoulder blade more fiercely than before, eyes closed tightly, leaning his head down to try to hide the fact. Hwoarang's lips disconnected with a smack, and his eyes flashed at Jin through the mirror before he withdrew his hand from where he had tangled it around Jin's midsection. "Yeah. Me, too."

Hwoarang escaped, but as the words sunk in, it was Jin who was left gaping. Hwoarang...? Hwoarang hadn't...? Hwoarang! It had never occurred to him, not once. He would have never guessed it: Hwoarang was so confident, seemed so at home with everything, and gave off an air of "been there, done that" no matter what. Or did he mean it as in 'with a guy?' Jin pondered the possibility in brief, but it suddenly didn't make a dime of difference whether things could have gone smoother.

He braced himself against the counter and steadied his breathing. As he looked at himself in the mirror, he came to realize that the difference with him wasn't outward, but emotional. It was giving him a glow that pushed back the gray shroud that had covered him for so long. Jin ran a hand through his hair and smoothed his face, adjuring himself to stop being so delusional, but he did feel good.

Jin left the bathroom and found that Hwoarang had switched beds. As he approached, Hwoarang lifted the covers, inviting him to join. He could see from Hwoarang's eyes that the earlier revelation wasn't a subject up for discussion, and he wouldn't have had it any other way. Jin slipped into the bed and, once they had had a wordless conversation and exchanged a set of smugly sheepish smiles, settled on his side. Hwoarang spooned him fully and brought a hand across his chest. They remained snuggled tightly, even as Hwoarang slid his hand down and brushed a hand across his genitals gently, intimately, like only a beloved could.

* * *

Hwoarang was much less alarmed the second time he woke alone. The noises from the bathroom and the clock shining morning told him Jin had gone to take a shower. He patted the bed good morning and found his feet with a satisfied yawn. Stretching as he went, he paid his next course of action some thought before approaching the bathroom. He gave the token tap on the door and entered.

The room permeated steam. The bathtub was isolated from the room with a shower curtain, behind which Hwoarang could make out Jin's form. He found himself admiring the profile before he got his mouth open. "Hey... can I join you?"

The water was turned down, and the noise from the stream abated. "Please do."

Hwoarang grinned to himself: Jin sounded sociable and definitely not morose. He removed his pants and fought the ensuing spell of self-consciousness before taking heart and scooting into the tub with Jin. He blamed the unwelcome flush on his face on the moist air. Luckily, Jin was facing away from him, though he did turn for long enough to afford him a positively sultry look. The heat left his face and rushed to his gut.

Hwoarang moved closer to Jin until they were almost touching. "Turn it on," he murmured and ducked for a bar of soap. As Jin complied, he lathered his hands ready and placed them lightly on Jin's collarbones. The warm water quickly diluted the soap and trailed down Jin's back in frothy streams. Hwoarang ran his hands along the trickles, admiring the smooth skin and delighting in the pleased sigh he was rewarded with as his hands were allowed to roam Jin's back, only to leave for more soap and return on the heated skin warmer than before.

Hwoarang's hands were playing along Jin's sides, relishing the water-slick skin, and, by small degrees, hazarding further down. He ran his palms lightly over Jin's buttocks, savoring the fine feel. Hwoarang murmured something nonsensical, to reassure Jin that he meant it as an appreciation and not as an initiation, and let his hands travel a lazy arc from Jin's bottom to his midsection, where he wrapped his arms around the man. Jin sank onto him, bombarded by a steady stream of warm water in the front and Hwoarang's closeness in the back. At the latter, Jin tensed involuntarily.

Hwoarang detached his arm immediately and tugged at his crotch. The wayward half-on on the make wouldn't be willed down, and it obstinately sought to rise and snuggle up to Jin's ass. He tried to redirect it with poor success. He sighed; the warm, incredibly desirable body in his arms wasn't helping the matters any. "I'm sorry. It's a reaction," he whispered in Jin's ear.

With a new helping of soap, Hwoarang brought a palm to Jin's chest and started caressing his muscles. Jin opened his mouth for a breathless gulp, and the discomfort died. Hwoarang spread the suds steadily in small circles, and Jin inclined his head sideways. Hwoarang dipped his head until their lips met. As the water washed over Jin, splashing occasional warmth on Hwoarang, they kept on kissing softly, desiringly.

Jin broke the kiss off with care and leaned against Hwoarang, who touched his lips to his shoulder, heedless to any remaining soap. Hwoarang skimmed his hand along the defined stomach muscles until he dipped down and scooped Jin's package in his hand. Jin hummed.

Tracing Jin's face until Jin surrendered his lips again, Hwoarang trailed the prized possessions with his fingertips, intimately privy to each reaction of Jin's. Time crystallized into a perfect, still moment, where Jin's lips were on his and Jin trusted him implicitly. He was impelled by the need to do something nice for Jin.

He let the jewels slide from his grasp and focused on worshipping the smooth length. Under his ministrations, the promising half-hanger hardened to a full salute. The water was turned off at some point, and Hwoarang was elated to discover that it wasn't frightening when the rush of the water was absent and they were by themselves, sans distractions.

On the contrary, Jin hung onto him tighter and brought his hands back to pull him close, now unconcerned at being targeted inappropriately, and the guttural noises he was making stroked Hwoarang's ego. He abandoned teasing the head between his thumbs and wrapped his hand around the shaft, sending Jin moving his hips against him in what could only be called gyrating. He groaned to himself and settled on his task with twice the enthusiasm.

The soap had dissolved long ago, but that didn't keep the pliant length from gliding smoothly in his hand or the precious crown from molding in his fingers perfectly. He dipped his head again, quieting Jin's moans with his mouth as the climax hit and Jin drew rigid against him. He continued administering lazy strokes, drinking in to Jin's trust in him and his body for support through the trembles until Jin finally softened.

Jin sighed. "That was nice." He pulled upright with effort, and Hwoarang's length, no longer trapped between their bodies, slid down his backside until it lost contact and remained holding the fort.

Hwoarang murmured his agreement. He touched Jin's side lightly and backed to the other end of the tub.

"I'll just finish quickly. Okay?" Jin asked, hand on the faucet.

"Take as long as you like. I'll be watching."

Jin shot him a discouraging look, and Hwoarang grinned back. When Jin turned the shower on and tried to shove something off the tub with his toe, Hwoarang's grin turned into an open laughter. "Oh, shut up," Jin said. Hwoarang could hear Jin straining his face and trying not to redden, and he was glad he wasn't the only one hexed with the blushing qualities.

Jin went on to rinse any excess white foam off himself, while Hwoarang admired his backsi— the scenery. The latter wouldn't have grown tiring any time soon, but, all too quickly, the owner of the former finished washing off with a scowl that failed to faze the interested party. Jin finally turned, allowing the most pleasing view of himself. Jin's eyes drifted down, and his lips twitched before he could stop himself. "You need help with that?"

"Nah, I'll get rid of it." This had been about Jin, and Hwoarang didn't want anything to interfere with that. "You go. I guess I'll stay and dick around some," he said with a grin.

Jin left, openly amused, and Hwoarang readily confiscated the shower.

* * *

They got dressed in good moods, though a little quiet. Neither had anything in particular to talk about, and a tentatively amicable silence was preferable to excessive blabbering. The packing, which consisted of throwing two pairs of pants in the backpack, induced a short round of teasing until they sunk into silence again. They had returned to the bike after a bite to eat, and that was the end of their city visit.

Here they were now, going back to the hell house that had, of late, started working out for them. The ride wasn't any shorter than before and it, again, left Hwoarang alone with his thoughts. He had jacked Jin off to a good morning. Once they had cleared the city, Jin had wrapped his arms around his middle and kept them there. All seemed well, but he couldn't tell what Jin was thinking. He wasn't sure if Jin was satisfied with the outcome of their excursion, or if he was, to an extent, playing along to humor him. He didn't want to think that, but Jin was hard to read, and he wasn't sure.

Hwoarang suddenly realized that the arms were no longer around wrapped around him. Instead, their hold had loosened, and one hand had slipped to his upper thigh. A moment later, the other followed suit and landed on his other thigh. Heat radiated from Jin's palms and seeped through his jeans and onto his skin. Hwoarang gulped, but he wasn't displeased. He was doing fine on concentrating on the driving until Jin started rubbing his hands along his thighs, down and up...

Hwoarang groaned. _Damn Kazama!_ He was sure he'd land them into a ditch, and the next rest area didn't come any too soon. Hwoarang pulled over and virtually jumped off the bike. Jin, on the other hand, took his sweet time dismounting. The man even dared quirk a brow at him as though in question, sporting an expression meant as neutral and failing to convey anything but insincerity. Hwoarang couldn't tell which of them took the first step, but he found himself kissing and embracing Jin with ardor that only Jin's passion could match. Hands brushing through the raven tresses as he held onto Jin's head and confiscated his mouth greedily, he felt like the worst kind of fool for his moment of weakness.

They had to come out for air sometime, and they did come apart short of breath. As Hwoarang looked around, well aware of a hand brushing against his coat, he recognized the place: it was the same spot where they had stopped on the way over. They must have come a lot closer to the house than he had realized.

It was the same spot, but the mood was completely different. Hwoarang felt oddly at peace when he finally faced Jin, admiring the soft shine of his eyes. He brought the tips of his fingers to Jin's jaw, dipping his head for a kiss. When he had the heart to pry his lips away, he found that the soft shine had diminished none. Hwoarang closed his eyes; a wave of feeling good washed over him. He finally found the words for the calmness: he was at peace with himself. Hwoarang opened his eyes. He had no doubts.

Jin was eyeing him sideways. Smiling faintly, Hwoarang inclined his head toward the woods and touched Jin's hand in passing. Jin's eyes drifted closed, as he bowed his head, and then his gaze returned back on Hwoarang, sharp and intelligent. Together, they started for the woods.

* * *

Hwoarang felt more disheveled than he looked. He would have combed his fingers though his mane one more time if he hadn't been afraid to disturb Jin, who was leaning on him. He had been sure to preen his hair into shape before leaving, but despite the bike ride and Jin's lopsided assurance that he was fine, he still suspected he had grass in his hair or growth sticking from his clothes. He sighed without any real woe; if anything gave him away, it was looking like a fool.

They had barely gotten off the driveway when he had already had Jin trapped against a tree. The same incoordination had marked their entire progress to the shelter of the woods and onto a grassy clearing where they had settled after a round of wrestling and tackling. Jin's grumbling hadn't made a difference; he hadn't been able to stop smiling like an idiot and dipping down to steal quick kisses—or reaching up for the same, when Jin had finally pinned him down and straddled him into place with a look of satisfaction. That was, until he had gotten the upper hand again. The best part of the encounter was, they hadn't done much; they had lain together, kissing and caressing each other quite chastely; the clothes hadn't come off at any point. Yet, it had felt like making love.

It was finally Jin's grumbling that his ass was getting cold that had sent him laughing and allowed Jin's celebratory escape from under him. The both of them had still been giddy at the parking lot where they had tried to brush their clothes clean. They had ended up laughing together helplessly.

"Oy." Hwoarang suddenly sharpened to attention and reluctantly gave up reminiscing. He didn't think that Jin had fallen asleep against his back, but they were on the estate already, and he needed to alert the backseat passenger. Hwoarang throttled down and felt Jin straighten at the back. With a meaningful brush to his thighs, the hands left his body, and the balance of the bike shifted slightly as Jin leaned back and supported himself on the handles.

They hadn't thought about a story in case someone had noticed that either one of them, or both of them, had been absent. Luckily, the yard was empty as Hwoarang pulled over and let Jin off. "You go ahead. I'll take care of the bike and see you later," he said. His eyes locked with Jin's for a moment.

"I'll see you," Jin said, his voice resonant, and left with a lingering non-smile that threatened to break Hwoarang into smiling for real. Once Jin was safely inside the house, he started pushing the bike toward the excuse of a garage.

"Where were you? Where are you coming from?" The voice that piped up belonged indelibly to Ling Xiaoyu, who had materialized from somewhere to regard Hwoarang and his bike with curiosity.

"Xiao-chan, looking good!"

"Where did— What?" Xiaoyu gaped.

"What's up, beautiful?"

"I'm good. Very good. Why are you smiling at me?" she said in a small voice. Was Hwoarang drunk? Hollering greetings and calling her beautiful she could put down to rudeness, but what was it with the smiling? Was he doing drugs? Xiaoyu took the only rational course of action: she scurried away, yelping the parting words over her shoulder, "I have to go."

Hwoarang followed her escape with a raised brow until he resumed pushing the bike to the shelter. "You are easy, girl," he said sotto voce and chuckled. The old Hwoarang would have snickered, but he was becoming mellow. Allowing himself a quick smirk, he pushed the garage door open and went on to fix the bike into its spot.

* * *

Hwoarang had become absorbed in working on the bike; since he was out here, he had reasoned he might as well do a few checks and work on the bike a little. He hadn't noticed the time passing until he found that he had company.

"Hi, Jin," he greeted and stepped back to inspect his handiwork. He wished he had better tools, but he had definitely made improvements with the few available.

"They have the new schedules out."

"Oh, good," Hwoarang said. He snorted; he couldn't wait to hear what catastrophes were laid in their path this time. Three fights within three days, maybe? Something better even, if the schedule-planners really tried? Then it hit him: something was off. Jin sounded strained. His eyes shot up. "What is it?"

"It's us. We're fighting."

"What?"

* * *

**Huge thanks** to **Gypsie** for the proofreading!

**Published** January 5, 2010.


	11. Dangerous Games

Thank you for all the kind support on this story, on-site and off-site and even personally! It makes all the difference, every time. Sincere thanks! At this point, I reiterate that you are welcome to comment mid-story without waiting all the way to the end. Now, time has come for...

* * *

**Chapter 11: Dangerous Games**

Hwoarang turned on his side and tried not to get angry. Jin still hadn't returned to their room, and it was well past the time when they usually turned in. He wasn't his brother's keeper, and Jin wasn't obliged to keep track of his whereabouts to him, but still...

This wasn't the first time. The instant the new schedules were announced, Jin changed. The first night, he had been good enough to at least show up in bed. Tight-lipped and somehow agitated though he had been, they had at least managed to fit in the same space. They had slept close, but it hadn't been cuddling. Then, he had stopped showing up altogether. The furtive looks were gone; Jin wasn't even looking at him anymore. He trained and fought during the day, more reclusive and elusive than ever, but he didn't return until late at night, or sometimes even morning, when Hwoarang had already gone to sleep. They missed each other in the morning when Hwoarang set out early and Jin was left back, crashed out.

It wasn't like Hwoarang had more extra time on his hands, either. He knew Jin had been given real matches at a grueling pace before theirs was due, but so was he. He had to train just the same, and he had to attend and concentrate. Kazama was suddenly back in the game full force, complete with a schedule that almost seemed designed to wear him out after a leisurely start, but it was no excuse. It wasn't enough.

Jin was avoiding him purposely, and Hwoarang found on the verge of seething despite the earlier attempt to keep his cool and not act like Jin owed him something, like common decency. If Jin wanted it this way, so be it. And if he couldn't show up to sleep at a decent time, that was his choice. For the first time, Hwoarang monopolized the entire bed and spread himself on it comfortably, instead of curling up in the corner so Jin would fit in easily when he arrived.

Yet, in the morning, he felt like a downright bastard when he found Jin sleeping on the floor beside the bed, huddled to himself under a thin blanket. Hwoarang watched him, ache and guilt tugging at his heart. He reached out to touch the silky hair or brush Jin's arm for a good morning, but then he withdrew his hand with a sad face. He got up quietly to avoid disturbing Jin and drew the blanket off the bed and over him. Then he took his things and went to dress in the bathroom.

* * *

Hwoarang carried on, associating with people when he had to amid the ferocious training, but it was like he wasn't even there. He didn't connect mentally or register the passing of days intellectually.

He had fights and, in all honesty, he didn't remember them afterward. Without the papers, he wouldn't have known whom he had fought against. In the second one, he nearly forgot to pay his respects after the game. He couldn't tell how he had won, either, and the haze cleared only when he found himself holding onto his side after the matches, wondering why it smarted so and why he hadn't noticed getting hurt. He found himself clutching his abdomen and coughing bile in the bushes, and still wouldn't have known he had won without the crowd chanting his name. He was making a name, and he didn't notice.

He was hell-bent to settle things with Jin, and yet, as he was ready to go back, his step slowed, and the burning intent to return changed to reluctance. The reluctance turned to hurt and anger when, once he did venture to their shared accommodation, Jin was never there and only passed by fleetingly in the common areas. It wasn't like he couldn't have stopped Jin and cornered him, but for what? Jin obviously didn't want to be approached and talk about the fight or what would happen when one of them would be eliminated. They were at sudden death already.

The turning point came one night before the fated match, which had become the elephant in the living room. Jin was sitting on the bed, but stood up as Hwoarang entered the room, a training bag in his grasp and a waning adrenaline rush from practice on his back. He nearly jumped at seeing Jin; it was like stumbling upon a rare species, and Hwoarang had been sure he was likelier to chance across a giant panda than a domestic Kazama. He smiled ruefully. "Hi."

"I have to talk to you about something."

There it came: _We need to talk_. No softening the blow, no exchanging pleasantries, not so much as a greeting. Just, _we need to talk_. Hwoarang went to the dresser. "Yeah?" he said, reaching a friendly note. He could be overreacting, and Jin could be talking about something else.

"It is important."

_Always was._ The blue washed over Hwoarang, and his eyebrows knit together sharply before he mastered the surge of emotion. "Yeah, Jin, go ahead. I'm listening." He reached into the bag and tried to make out as though nothing was amiss and he was just getting the gear out to air.

"The fight is tomorrow—"

_I know._

"—and I don't know what happens there."

Hwoarang gave a dry laugh that died quickly. "No one knows. Kind of the point."

"No, what I meant was..." Jin squeezed his eyes shut and rubbed his forehead with his fingers. "What I mean is... I don't know what happens, but... if I win— I need to know you won't hate me."

_Come again?_

Hwoarang turned. "You don't know how it's going to go. It could be either way." He wondered what had gotten into Jin's head.

"This match is important. This tournament is important. I have to win."

Now, Hwoarang was getting a little riled. Where was Kazama coming off with this? Did he think he was the only one placing his honor and reputation on the line, that he was the only one playing for victory? He frowned. "You don't know if it's you or me who wins. Don't start acting like it's you automatically 'cause you've no reason to assume."

Jin rubbed at his temple. "No, you don't understand. If I win..." Jin didn't continue; he simply ceased talking and looked around anywhere but at Hwoarang. Yet, the unfinished sentence wafted in the air until it grew heavy enough to brew a storm.

"Or maybe you don't, and maybe you need to stop saying you will," Hwoarang said between his teeth and took a step forward. On its own volition, his hand clenched. "Or do you think you are so much better than me?"

"That's not what I think," Jin said, uncertain now. He averted his eyes and licked his lips, trying to avoid confrontation.

"Isn't it?" Hwoarang whispered. "What am I supposed to think, Jin? You don't talk to me for days; you act like I don't exist—" He stopped himself in time before the bleeding-heart got sickening. "And then you spring this shit all over me, like you're the one destined to win."

The words didn't matter anymore, when deeds spoke everything. Overnight, he had become the least of Jin's priorities, and now Jin was ending it because he was already sure he'd win. Jin was ashamed. Jin couldn't even bear to look at him. Rejection hurt unbearably, yet angered Hwoarang to new planes.

"Have it your way," Hwoarang choked and slammed the door behind him.

He did go out wandering, knowing that it didn't make a damnedest bit of difference. Where else would he go, if not back, sooner or later? It occurred to him that he could always find Steve Fox and make good of his offer for a place to stay. Yeah, he could do that, and he could also cut his balls off and wear a skirt. Maybe he could go stay with his mother, too, while he was at it.

The entire line of thought was still eating at him when he returned to the room, brusquely gathered any useful items, and made himself a bed on the wall-side, as far away from the bed as he could. He saw that Jin was trying to reach out to him, but he was too angry to acknowledge it. Jin tried to say something contrite, but it was too easy to brush off the feeble attempt. And yet, as Hwoarang waited for sleep in the darkness and the anger cooled, he wondered if Jin was tearing on the inside as much as he was. How could they have deteriorated so quickly?

In the morning, he still wanted to sort things out and bridge the rift, but there was never a chance. He rose early, while Jin remained passed out. Hwoarang felt rotten; he knew Jin wasn't sleeping well—of course he knew—and he wasn't helping it any. He had lost heart. With a dejected look at Jin, who looked worn out even asleep, Hwoarang left.

* * *

This was it.

Hwoarang jerked awake; reality had woken him with a blow to the head. He looked around. The colors showed luminous now and bore into his vision sharp as a spike: fluffs of cotton-white shone against the blue night like neon. The stage setting was superb.

The shady plains and the awe-inspiring image of a dwelling looming in the background weren't the only things around: Jin was there. Even their dress accentuated the rift: Hwoarang presented himself in a perfect white uniform of taekwondo; Jin, in brooding karate colors, which exalted darkness despite their token spark. Jin himself lacked any: his posture slumped.

One thing struck Hwoarang most importantly: Jin was eyeing him. He straightened up, all too aware of how the commotion was fading, a dead-on signal that the start was near. They didn't have long before the cameras started rolling.

He wasn't the only one who felt it. Eyes on the ground, Jin spoke. "I am sorry."

Jin's misery wasn't one-sided. The hell was wrong with them? He was being stupid, and Kazama was being a selfish prick. They'd had a good thing going, and here they were, about to blow it before anything had happened. They were playing dangerous games with each other. "Me, too."

They were seconds away from starting. Anything else said to patch things up, it had to be now.

"We'll work it out, after this. Let's just see this through."

Jin didn't even seem able to acknowledge him, but he did some kind of a distressed shake of his head, and then it started. The stage came to life, and the emotions on their faces died. Jin sharpened and said something in Japanese, a warning.

Hwoarang's face tightened. _May the better man win_, he thought and wished that a morsel of him could have believed that. This wasn't what he wanted anymore. He punched in the air and showed two kicks that landed him soundly on the ground. His opening sequence came from the never-changing set of moves, and he drew upon it. Routine gave him safety. Anything that came after the opening, he had to think on his feet.

Their time started running out.

* * *

Hwoarang balanced on his feet, continuously in motion. One of them had to make the first move, but Jin was sitting on the fence as much as he was. Entire seconds passed, but then Jin charged.

Jin's strength was explosive, and his speed frightening. Hwoarang had admired his qualities and known to expect them, and still he could only soften the fast blows Jin directed at his midriff. The pain was excruciating enough to make him see stars and send him doubling over, but his mind sped even quicker. They really were doing this. Kazama was serious about wanting to win, and he wasn't holding back. He drew up and foiled Jin with his crossed arms. Jin was visibly surprised at the quick counter, and their gazes locked.

Still riding on the surprise, Hwoarang grabbed him by the arm, prayed to avoid nightmares despite the similarities to Baek's match, and landed a terrible kick at Jin's neck. With a yelp, Jin was sent flying until he crashed the ground with a sickening thud. At least the ground was more forgiving than the asphalt. Hwoarang himself should have felt remorse, but the feeling wasn't there. He inhaled painfully, pressing at his side, but his break was brief until Jin was up again and on the offensive.

Kazama had skill; that, Hwoarang had never contested. That didn't make Jin more skilled than he. Jin was strong, but so was he. Jin made for a formidable fighter, but that didn't mean he was better. Hwoarang really wanted to believe that, as Jin was fast driving him across the arena with a stunning motley of kicks and hits. He was blocking Jin with effort, but it was too much, and he was taking damage in the process. He wouldn't be able to hold off much lo—

The last of Jin's attacks hit, just as Hwoarang was one strike from being taken down. Jin stopped, completely motionless. It was as though the air around him cracked and electrified. That was when it hit Hwoarang: he had seen this happen before.

Julia Chang had lost like this. She had allowed Kazama to regroup, and it had been her doom.

Hwoarang leapt forward and delivered two fast jabs that were bound to give Jin a migraine. Jin recovered fast, and Hwoarang acted on wild intuition: he stole a kick on Jin's ankle from the back, and Jin's footing wavered. In a flash, he switched his attack and got Jin in the face. Jin fell down with a groan.

The break bought him the precious time to visualize his progression. Jin nearly made him lose his balance as he rose, but Hwoarang got a lucky break. Jin readied his fists, but Hwoarang charged near, grabbed him by the arm, and pushed himself in the air.

The journey up was slow, and time stopped. Jin was momentarily stunned; Hwoarang's eyes drifted closed as he recited the trajectory in his head. The arc came to an end, and he began falling. Hwoarang began to twist himself around his axis. One foot landed near Jin's head, sending him crouching in pain. The other followed suit, bringing him down. Hwoarang let go and landed, well-coordinated.

He put distance between them as much as he could before Jin rose. He was nearly at the end of his rope. Jin, too, had to be, but he persisted. Jin approached him, and he made for a final attempt: instead of relying on his beloved kicks, he used his strikes. He struck Jin thrice, and the last hit sent Jin flying backward. It was a showy move, but not one that would hurt too much. Kazama would be up in no time.

Hwoarang had cashed in his last chance of a breather, though he tried not to let the exhaustion show. He was catching his breath, readying himself in a stance for the final showdown. He wouldn't have it in himself to fend Jin off any longer. All the other fights had been over soon, but this nightmare was endless.

The bell tolled for them.

The time stopped.

Hwoarang looked at the numbers, now running on glaring single digits. But if the fight had finished... and he was the last man standing... the fight had been ruled to a knockout, and that made him the winner. It was over, and he had won. He had bested _Kazama Jin_. The entirety of it boggled Hwoarang's mind. After all this time of not knowing which one of them was the best, they finally had an answer. He finally knew.

He had won, and a conclusion was expected of him. He pulled a set of moves to meet the rules of engagement. He had won, but it didn't seem too important. Jin was still down.

"Hey, Kazama... no hard feelings," he called out.

_Tick-tock. Tick-tock._

_Tick..._

_...tock._

"What the hell? **What are you—**"

* * *

The call came in at daybreak.

Since the conversation the previous day, Baek Doo San had had an ill feeling he hadn't been able to shake off. He had answered the phone then. _Official Moon would like to know where Baek Doo San's letter could be forwarded to. He expressed his sincere apologies that the task had not been completed to the fullest satisfaction_. What? _Official Moon apologized that Baek Doo San's letter had not been delivered already and would like to know—_

They had never forwarded his letter to Hwoarang, despite his specific instructions to do so. Someone had misplaced the letter, and they had noticed it only now. That meant...

Worry chiseled Baek's face. Hwoarang hadn't learned of his survival, nor received his instructions regarding the tournament. Baek was troubled; in a fit of anger, he had done the boy great injustice. He wanted to seek Hwoarang out, but Hwoarang was scheduled for a fight, so he would wait, against his better judgment.

His sleep had been erratic until he had gathered his belongings and moved to the other tournament house. In the old days, the fighters had stayed together, but he supposed the times must change. The change had even worked to his advantage, since he was still allowed to stay on despite a defeat early on. At the other lodging, he had run into a wakeful Marshall Law. The old sins had been atoned for in the twenty-odd years, and they had engaged in a pleasant conversation, even if something had seemed horribly wrong to him. He had surmised it must be Marshall himself, and he expressed his condolences over the family tragedy. Just as they had moved on to lighter subjects, as Baek was nearly chuckling at something Marshall had said, the call came.

Baek listened to the speaker numbly. He ended the call and left Marshall without a word of goodbye. Baek threw himself into making arrangements, and within minutes, he had gone.

The official announcement was made half an hour later. Hwoarang, from Korea, had been dropped out of the tournament and taken to the hospital. Another Korean, Baek Doo San, had forfeited. Jin Kazama, Japan, was proceeding to the next round.

* * *

**Cordial thanks** to **Gypsie** for the proofreading!

**Published** February 18, 2010.


	12. In the Hospital

In spirit of keeping a running commentary on the layout and the site functioning: the inch signs used for dialogue punctuation are because of a site-wide change to the side encoding. I cannot change their appearance to inverted quotation marks. To confirm the estimate from Chapter 5: Intimate Rivals will conclude at fifteen chapters. Thanks for joining in!

* * *

**Chapter 12: In the Hospital**

Baek stood beside the hospital bed wearily. Hwoarang had lasted through the night, but as the hours passed and he still hadn't woken, the hospital staff had started going over the patient files and looking for those who should be notified. Baek had wondered about that—about how they had known to contact him. Something new was revealed, then, and a paralyzing feeling of anxiety settled in Baek's gut.

"The number was wrong, of course, but we were lucky to locate you from the same tournament—"

"Why was I listed as the emergency contact?"

Papers were shuffled. "The information is the same on all tournament records we have, since The King of Iron Fist Tournament 3..."

As the year came with sickening certainty, all else lost meaning to Baek. He had been thought dead at the time, and Hwoarang had to have known this for a fact. Hwoarang had deliberately given his name and the number where no one would answer the calls, only to provide the information to sign himself in. Baek supported himself on the bed rail and felt weak. After all this time, Hwoarang still had not forgiven his kith and kin for what had driven him to the streets. There was no one he would have notified if the worst came true. Not one. Baek was gaining in years, and he believed the old were better suited to take pain than the young, but his heart was breaking.

His affection had been concealed more poorly than he had thought; the voice asking if he had questions was kinder now, almost sympathetic.

"Is he in a coma?" Baek asked numbly.

"No..." The hesitation was marked. "We don't know what it is. By all reason, he should be awake. We can't find—" The explanation was detailed, but in the end, all that supposed medical expertise amounted to nothing. The collegium of doctors had no idea what was causing the unconsciousness; it wasn't a coma, as such; they didn't think the patient had brain damage, but hedged and refused to rule out the possibility. Hwoarang was simply not waking up. They could only tell what they did not know, but that was of no use. They did, however, give a timeline for the head injury: if the time of spontaneous unconsciousness exceeded 48 hours, the chances of recovery would diminish rapidly. If Hwoarang didn't wake up by then, he was not likely to wake up again.

Baek nodded at the number. He gave his consent for the suggested treatment and waited outside, while medical procedures were carried out. Upon returning, he found a seat in the room and sat down to wait.

* * *

Baek didn't yet know fully what had happened: Hwoarang had been in a scheduled fight that had spun out of control, but the data was insufficient, and the cause, in Baek's eyes, unimportant. The fight had been too difficult, and had he stepped up in time, Hwoarang wouldn't have gone there. It had been two years, but he wanted to believe that Hwoarang would listen to him as he had in the past. It was like Hwoarang's street gambling: he had never approved of it, but he sure as hell had sanctioned it. Had he taught Hwoarang adequately, this would not have happened. "I have failed you."

Hwoarang didn't hear his words. He remained just as lifeless despite the silent plea, without responding to the quick squeeze Baek gave his hand.

The visiting hours came and passed; Baek remained. He kept out of the staff's way and only left briefly to take care of necessities: find accommodation as near as possible and change into fresh attire, take a quick meal. The time that progressed in running steps slowed to crawling as he returned to the room, but he was determined to stay in his rightful place, waiting.

Twelve hours passed, and then a full day. The second day canted to dusk. Baek knew it was only a statistical probability, and the count had started from an arbitrary point zero, but as the hour neared, he kept looking at the time at more frequent intervals. He had stayed by Hwoarang's side and spoken some, hoping the familiar language and voice could draw Hwoarang back into the world, but nothing had happened. There was no turn for the worse, either, a nightmare that would come to him on many a night yet.

As the forty-eighth hour struck and the count turned into the third day, Hwoarang still hadn't woken up. Baek, in turn, buried his head in his hands. What had he done?

* * *

Hwoarang woke to a world of blindness and signal noise. The headache pounding with a vengeance was his first coherent perception, but something was blocking his vision. His right arm wouldn't bend to his will, but the left one still worked. He brought it to his face and tore the bandages off. Through persistent and painful observation, an image of his too-white surroundings began to form. He was in a hospital, and he knew what had brought him there.

His arm gave a stab of pain as he struggled up. The new discovery fouled his mood further: they had stuck tubes in him. Hwoarang looked at the IV in the bend of his arm and tore it off. Only when he started to pull his leg free from the sling did the noise alert the nurse and Baek, who had retreated to discuss outside the room. The nurse moved to intervene.

"GET THE HELL AWAY FROM ME!"

Not only did the nurse draw back; Baek listened on in the back, stunned. Hwoarang had never shouted like that. Hwoarang launched for the second attack, and the nurse was headed to an ill fate, when Baek spoke, "Hwoarang."

Hwoarang stopped. He stared at Baek like there was no one else present. His breathing was heavy, but he held on, visibly battling fatigue and pain and passing out. Then, he averted his eyes and released the sling. He dropped back on the bed and curled to himself as blood stained the sheets. Baek, on the other hand, cleared the room, pulled up a chair on the other side of the bed, and started talking.

* * *

It was night, and Hwoarang was finally alone, after Baek had agreed to leave him be. The master would be back in the morning.

The moon glowed through the blinds, left cracked open on request, and he could only stare at the sky. It was over. Nothing that Baek could tell him about the match had been news to him; he remembered vividly how Jin had humiliated him and held him up to ridicule for all public to see. Even the defeat to the matchless fiend he could live with, but not the other degradation: he had never been so frightened.

He tried to tell him not to hate Jin, not to let this better him, but the humiliation only he knew of was burning at his chest. He had been nothing to Jin from the start: he had been some kind of a toy to amuse him and romance, while Kazama had kept his true nature a secret and laughed up his sleeve. He had fallen for it headfirst, and he had shamed himself. Hwoarang tried to tell himself that the shame was more Jin's, for allowing him to do what he had, but he knew it was just as much his.

He would not hate Jin... Yet, he knew it was a hope he wouldn't live up to. He kept staring out the window, as tears burned a trail down. It was all over.

* * *

On the third day, Hwoarang received a visitor. He was no longer as trapped into the bed; in a fit of epiphany, it had been decided that he did not need the cast on his leg or arm, and had replaced the former with an ankle support and the latter with an intricate splint. Baek's mood had darkened past any reasonable terms at the announcement of the news, as he deduced rightly that the care had been inadequate from the beginning and the diagnosis haphazard. He had gone to discuss the matter further.

That was when someone who stood out a _smile_ away arrived in a blond breeze.

"Hey... You're looking better already," Steve tried. Pale and drawn, still sporting visible red marks on his forehead, Hwoarang took his arrival with shocking lack of enthusiasm, but Steve was resolved to keep an upbeat mood. He went by the bedside and squeezed Hwoarang's good foot in greeting. "How're you doing?"

Hwoarang smiled without much humor and did a shrug of sorts.

"I didn't know what to bring. I guess chocolate or magazines or flowers would be the usual thing, but they seemed kind of girly, and I wasn't sure what you like," Steve said lightly, and Hwoarang rewarded him with an incomprehensible utterance and shake of his head that told him that the trouble wasn't necessary. "That's it for me. I'm out."

"That so?"

"Yeah, I'm out. I'm going home—just came to see you first, before I start looking for flights. Didn't figure I was going to leave so soon... Tried to call here first to make sure you were here, but these folks don't speak much English, do they?"

The welcome break from the heavy silence came when Steve scouted for a chair and finally settled in a seat.

"I saw the match. I mean, a snapshot of it, afterward. What do you do against something like that?" Steve looked at Hwoarang under his brow and said a little quieter, but all the more decidedly, "You were lucky you got knocked out so quickly."

_Lucky?_ That wasn't how he remembered it. The humiliation had been drawn out endlessly in the scene that kept playing in his head. "What do you mean, quickly?"

"He got you a good one early on, after... He knocked your lights out. Looked like it hurt, too."

Steve wasn't playing jokes. He spoke evenly, and his nonjudgmental tone undid any need for a backlash. Only the tone kept Hwoarang from jumping from his skin, as Steve continued:

"You know, about Jin. That _thing_...," Steve gestured around his chest and motioned like he was picking something from his hair as he tried to find words for something that defied comprehension. "He's got everyone freaked out. Everyone's scared of him, and no one wants to get in his way. I don't think he even stays in the house anymore."

The anxiety was back. It was like being trapped, cornered, and netted all at once, and it was unbearable. It stopped breathing and thinking, and it ignited the instinct to flee.

"I'm leaving here." Hwoarang said suddenly and jumped up. To Steve's amazement, he started hurling his feet over the bedside and looking for the support of the ground. "Get my clothes."

"What are you doing?"

"Where are my clothes?"

"No, don't! Where are you going?" Steve was alarmed.

Where was he going to go? He had stowed his stuff away in storage before entering military service, and he had come to the tournament straight from the army. The only place he had had was the shared room with Jin back at the tournament. He had nowhere to go. Hwoarang's knees buckled.

Steve caught Hwoarang by the arm first and then gathered the rest of him, as the redhead slumped against him. "Whoa. Whoa! Lie down. Please. You got to rest." He was worried out of his head, but then Hwoarang finally allowed himself be pushed back into the bed and tucked in.

Steve stayed on a while and made chitchat, but eventually, he had to give in and acknowledge that it was time to leave. He had never seen Hwoarang lacking so much energy; hadn't even thought the vibrant man could be so drained and down.

"I should get going. The flights aren't going to book themselves, and it's a long way home," he said and flashed a grin, even though Hwoarang could only give a wan smile. Steve snuck a hand into the bed and curled a fist around Hwoarang's fingers. "Take care of yourself."

* * *

On the fifth day, Hwoarang left the hospital with a slight limp, supported by Baek.

Elsewhere, wondering what had gotten the woman receding in a huff so angry, Jin Kazama rose from the ground, as the fanfare started playing.

* * *

**Hearty thanks** to **Gypsie** for the proofreading!

**Published** March 30, 2010.


	13. Jin Kazama

As a result of yet another change to the site settings, I am redoing the layout for all my stories, including the LotR stories, which were done before on-site editing was even possible or horizontal lines existed. Horizontal lines are now used for scene breaks. If I wanted the layout, I would have done it in the first place. AFF retains the original formatting for this story for now. **Edit 7/17/10:** Unfortunately, the changes didn't stop there. I have also had to let go of double punctuation, that is, grouping two finishing punctuation marks together for added emphasis. For example: "What ? !" without spaces. Now, I can only choose the question mark or the exclamation point. Again, the AFF version is unaffected by these changes, however small and sparingly used.

Fic-wise, building the mood, building the mood... Thanks to the readers, and thanks for the reviews!

* * *

**Chapter 13: Jin Kazama**

It wasn't difficult for Baek to talk Hwoarang into it: a new city, a new job... It was a new start. Baek deemed his dues to the army paid and wanted to reopen his business in a new city, and he asked Hwoarang to join him. It meant leaving everything old behind, including the gang that had been Hwoarang's before the army. Baek would help him find an apartment and a job and secure the rent.

Now, as Baek was driving, he was taking worried glances to his side. Hwoarang had remained withdrawn throughout their journey, and he still wasn't saying much. He just stared out of the side window. At first, he had thought Hwoarang was being willful by deliberately ignoring him and had bitten back his temper, determined to not let it show. As they had journeyed on, he had realized with growing alarm that Hwoarang wasn't doing it deliberately at all: he simply wasn't there. The eerie, uncharacteristic apathy continued, and he was growing more apprehensive by the minute. He shouldn't have let Hwoarang talk him into getting out of the hospital so soon. Leaving had been the only thing that Hwoarang had been interested in, and he had foolishly, sentimentally, given in.

"Should we have something to eat?" he suggested, and now he was definitely worried. Hints of anger had vanished as he stole another glance at Hwoarang.

Hwoarang didn't even look away from the window as he said wanly, "I'm not hungry. Thanks."

Even in that, Hwoarang was polite, without any backtalk that Baek would have paid the world to hear now. He didn't even bristle at the worried looks, which he had to have noticed by now. Baek forced himself to hold back any remarks and drove on.

* * *

Hwoarang stayed a few days with Baek before moving on his own. Officially, the delay was because Baek wanted to look for a suitable apartment and see to business arrangements; in reality it was because he wanted to keep Hwoarang under his supervision for as long as he could. He couldn't stall forever, though, and he had to let Hwoarang go. The agenda was going to work immediately and getting back to training the art as soon as he was healed.

Elsewhere, as Hwoarang settled into the life laid before him, feeling more saintly than ever, Jin Kazama, the newly appointed head of the Mishima Zaibatsu, stared off into the distance, until the board meeting called him away from the window and back to the table.

* * *

One month after the match, Hwoarang's door rang. Late on a Saturday, he had no idea who it could be. Baek wasn't an uncommon visitor, with visits so frequent he could swear he was being watched, but Baek didn't come unannounced. Others... there were none. He answered the door, and immediately reared up. He should have known who it was, always: Jin Kazama, in the flesh. He had played this scenario in his head countless times, thought what he would do if they ever met again. He had thought about decking Jin on sight. With a snap, the anger came smoldering back.

"I should break your jaw!"

Jin recoiled visibly at the greeting. Unfortunately, someone chose that particular moment to open the door to the corridor and overhear them.

"The hell are you staring at? Go fuck yourself!"

"Idiot," came uncertainly, but the intruder retreated, and privacy was granted.

"Get in from making a scene," Hwoarang said to Jin, in turn, and reined him in. He closed the door and, just for a blessedly cursed moment, closed his eyes like he was fighting a vicious headache. He wasn't imagining this. When he turned around, the sight still remained true: it was Jin, dressed darkly and looking drawn. His fine features stood out through the pallid complexion, just as handsome and strong as before. Jin's anemic appearance belied his dangerousness.

Jin didn't put up a fight. If anything, Jin seemed almost afraid of him, which Hwoarang noted with near-satisfaction. "You can hit me if you like," Jin said and averted his eyes.

In a single line, Jin deprived him of a leg to stand on. He couldn't raise a hand against Jin; it was like domestic abuse. He wasn't that guy—he wouldn't be that guy. Gulping painfully, Hwoarang made a move further into the apartment. He felt Jin on his heel.

Hwoarang dropped to a sitting position; Jin remained standing, looming somewhere in the corner and looking to blend in with the wall. He remained in clear sight, though, without sudden moves, keeping his hands in view. He displayed all the right signs of wanting to appease and appear peaceful. It was eventually he who spoke up.

"How are you?"

Hwoarang measured the floor with his eyes. "All right, considering. Unless you came to finish the job."

"No!"

Alarm. It was a feeling akin to fear, and Hwoarang liked that. It was comforting to know that it went two ways with them. Yet, it was also depleting his energy. He sagged back, but didn't offer a seat to Jin. If Kazama wanted to sit, he was old enough to know how to do it himself.

"I didn't know it was going to happen."

"What the hell are you, even?" Hwoarang said tiredly.

"I'm... I've been trying to find out for myself." Jin approached cautiously. "I'll try to explain it, if you let me. It started when I was fifteen, and it's something of a story."

* * *

Hwoarang's head was spinning, and he didn't like it one bit. Jin's tale was so fantastic that, had he not borne the brunt of it, he would have dismissed it instantly. Demons and nightmares and family feuds... If he had ever thought that Jin Kazama was something else, he had been dead-on.

Unbeknownst to him, Jin had barely scratched the surface and dodged explaining his sudden flight out of the country, or the new fighting style. He hadn't started by saying, _I killed my own grandfather_, or mentioned much of the tournament. Prudence wasn't the sole right of the offended party. He had tried his best to explain the nature of the beast and the existence of one.

"And after we... were together, it became harder to control. I don't remember much from thereon," Jin said, wondering if Hwoarang realized how vulnerable he was making himself with the confession—if he cared. Hwoarang could be so hard to read at times, and his stillness betrayed nothing. He listened, reactionless, and Jin wondered if anything had made a difference to him. Apparently, something had.

"It's been a month!" Hwoarang snapped.

Yeah, maybe he had been expecting something. A call, a message, an inquiry after him—any sign that he had mattered, even as an opponent. They had been destined to meet again, sooner or later, but he just wished Jin had paid respects when the anger was still fresh. Anything was better than the stale indifference. Jin's words were meaningful, and yet his bearing was dark and formally cool. They were supposed to be closer than ever, and they couldn't understand the first thing about each other. _What are you after, Kazama?_

"I didn't know if you would see me. We fought once, and you spent two years hating me. That was a draw. No one won or lost! You couldn't forgive me for a draw, so what would you do if we had a match with an actual result?"

Hwoarang had always known he'd dig his own grave yet; he just hadn't known how fixed he had been and what a good job he had done at it. He didn't say anything to Jin, who took his silence for a dismissal.

"I have to return home. I can't stay away for long, but I came to give you this." Jin presented something from his pocket and laid it before Hwoarang. "I cannot stay, but please, come see me."

Hwoarang looked at the document. He had been presented with a flight ticket, a week from then. _Look at that. Even spelled my name right. _He had been outed as a man who had a real name in real life. _It's still Hwoarang to you._ Yet, another seed of insult bore fruit. "You think I need your money?" Hwoarang said dangerously.

"I _don't know_ how else to apologize."

It wasn't an insult; it was about social skills, which Kazama notoriously lacked. _Like you were much to cheer at yourself._ Hwoarang stared at the papers blankly.

Jin continued, "What would you do, in my place?"

"I don't know."

"I have to go back. The company needs my attention, and I have to learn how to run it. I don't have training or a degree for something like that. I don't know what to do..." Jin gave a mirthless laugh and stopped short when he realized that he had lapsed into unburdening his heart to an audience who had no cause to sympathize. "If you come, I'll have you seen from the airport. And if you don't... I'll know you can't forgive me. That you hate me too much." Hwoarang didn't say much, and eventually, Jin relented. "I'll see myself out."

He was leaving, when Hwoarang finally spoke up:

"I don't hate you, Jin. But I don't love you much, either."

Jin deflated. Nothing Hwoarang had said had had this effect, but the downhearted honesty knocked the wind out of his sails. He looked like he wanted to speak, but in the end, he lowered his eyes, blinking away.

Jin turned on his heel, but on the way out, he stopped. His cool was finally breaking. "You _don't know_ what it's like. You can't know. All the time, being like you were someone else, constantly fighting back the urge to do evil. And now, I've destroyed everything." He couldn't continue.

How could he explain it? After the all-consuming gray, nothing had been as joyous as discovering that the admiration was mutual. When he had focused on Hwoarang, it had let him ignore the devil. He knew Hwoarang couldn't understand what an immense relief it had been; wouldn't have a point of reference to think of it as anything more than another slight.

Jin left, and left a void behind him. Hwoarang took the ticket in his hand and twiddled with it. He removed the paper clip and looked at the business card attached to the documents: it was a proper one, with Japanese on one side and English on the other. The phone number had been highlighted markedly, and Jin had scribbled his name by hand beside it. Eventually, he pushed the papers on the table and had to admit that, for the longest time, he didn't have a clue what to do.

* * *

**Many thanks** to **Gypsie** for the proofreading!

**Published** May 14, 2010.


	14. Succession, AFF

Thanks so much for the reviews! They couldn't have been more uplifting or be met with more enthusiasm. Much obliged, folks. Much obliged. Thanks for reading!

Pronounce "succession." Does it sound to you like... sex session?

**This chapter features romance at M rating.**

**This chapter is available on AdultFanFiction (AFF) as an explicit adult version, NC-17.**

* * *

**Chapter 14: Succession**

Hwoarang fiddled with his end of the boarding pass for the umpteenth time, until he caught the futility of that particular exercise and pocketed the paper slip with a "hmph." He wasn't nervous or uncertain, but as he looked at the thoroughly uneventful bed of clouds—_again_—he found himself missing the futile distraction. He could tell that the passenger in the next seat welcomed the break, though, and he refrained from nabbing the slip back out. Instead, he stuck with the boring sky.

He had thought about this over and over during the week, and it hadn't been to any use. There wasn't anything to think about: he wanted to do this. He wanted it to be a difficult decision, but no matter how much he sought some kind of an inner conflict to conquer, he knew it with certainty: he was going to do this. He was compelled to go.

He had played with the idea of ripping the ticket and getting one himself, to show he didn't need Kazama's money. The idea had stopped sounding like a great display of independence pretty soon and had instead taken a tone of idiocy, since the money was already spent. He didn't know what he was after; the predicted progression of events never got past him landing in Japan and them being in the same city as Kazama. He didn't even have a vision of them meeting.

The signal went off—the landing procedures had started. He would know the follow-up soon enough.

* * *

It wasn't Jin he found in the lounge—it was a uniformed driver holding up a swell sign:

Hwoarang  
화랑  
花郎

_Thoughtful_, Hwoarang thought as he went to introduce himself. Minutes later, he found himself being chauffeured on the wrong side of the road and addressed with a nifty new name, _Hwoarang-san_. Destination: Kazama Jin's residence. He had to admit a grudging respect for Jin having learned to exploit the company resources so quickly. He was also secretly glad he had dressed up a little: picked a nicer outfit in darker tones and left the more ornamental jeans at home. Found something suitable to keep his hair in place. The driver beat him at formal dress, but at least he didn't stand out so badly.

It wasn't until they arrived at the destination that the visit became real. They pulled up by the high-rise, and the driver was prepared to escort him inside, when Hwoarang called a halt. "Listen, I'll take care of something first. Just tell me where to go, and I'll see to myself . . . fine, thanks. You can tell your boss I'll be right up."

He couldn't afford to care what the driver thought of his sudden backing out; he picked his duffel and took off with a nod.

It wasn't like he had stage fright, but he suddenly felt like having some air around him, instead of being hauled in front of Kazama like for the show. It wasn't that he didn't appreciate the ease of this, but he needed space.

He didn't go far; a small park area of grass and deciduous flora was located opposite of the building. He found a bench and took a seat. He noticed as the driver came out and started off—out to celebrate a Saturday, to hazard a guess. He breathed in the air and tried to clear his head. He wasn't looking for answers or guidance on the next step of going in and facing Jin. This was a breather—no great drama involved. This was his chance to think this through, in case something innovative came to mind.

He didn't even realize that the time had passed. Hwoarang stirred to reality and finally picked himself up, along with the bag, and headed in.

* * *

Jin opened the door, and disappeared out of sight silently as a phantom. Hwoarang was barely even sure it was him when he mostly saw a receding back and the shining black hair, but he shrugged it off and took his time to put his shoes and bag out of the way and straighten his back. Then, he ventured in.

_Nice place._ He hadn't known what to expect, but it was definitely a nice place. Not a studio, despite being compact, but it looked like it had all the right rooms, starting from the lounge. Sleek and sparse, clean, not overly decorated or unbearably small. The lighting was dim. Jin himself was through hiding, too: he sagged on a sofa. At his arrival, Jin looked at him sidelong. His hair hid his eyes, which didn't rise very high.

Hwoarang halted by the door.

"I wasn't sure if you'd come."

Jin sounded sad and downcast. A little hoarse, his tone cut at Hwoarang's heart. He shouldn't have taken so long outside, pretending he was making his mind up about something. A crippling doubt set in. "...That guy did tell you I was coming, didn't he?"

Jin nodded, and his head sunk further. "I thought that maybe—" he breathed audibly "—you changed your mind."

"No, I didn't," Hwoarang said, and damned if he didn't feel guilty.

Jin nodded to himself and rose. He visibly composed himself and then faced Hwoarang. At a distance, Hwoarang suddenly realized the truth: Jin had been crying.

This wasn't the way it was supposed to go. Hwoarang's throat tightened. He took a step forward and opened his arms. "Come on."

Jin froze, but Hwoarang held his arms wide. Jin approached him cautiously, at length, but Hwoarang shook his head distractedly and beckoned to him. As soon as Jin was within his reach, he engulfed Jin within his arms. After the initial disbelief, Jin held him onto even tighter.

Jin was warm and whole. He smelled good. Jin felt so good, and Jin felt right. This was them—this was what they were supposed to be. He snuggled to Jin firmly, and rested his chin on his shoulder.

"You sorry bastard," Hwoarang said, but he wasn't angry.

"Don't call me that." Jin's voice was teary.

"I won't," Hwoarang promised in a murmur and hugged the back of Jin's neck tightly against himself. Jin shouldn't cry. He didn't want Jin to cry. Not on his account—not ever. He was going to lose it, too, if Kazama kept it up. He hugged onto Jin tighter. _Don't do this, baby._

They didn't need to worry about etiquette; their embrace was a close one. It was just the two of them, which meant that they could touch each other any damn way they pleased.

They eventually pried apart, and Hwoarang forced them to look each other in the eyes, even though he would have been more comfortable showing his eyes at another time, and Jin sure as hell would have. No more lies between them. He wasn't sure if Jin wanted to kiss, but he touched Jin's chest, and Jin didn't follow through. They shouldn't rush into any kissing stuff. They should try to figure each other out; make sense of things.

Whatever Jin's thoughts, he settled for the verdict. He blinked a little and cleared his throat. "Are you hungry?"

Hwoarang cracked a grin, though he surmised it didn't look that great below the red-rimmed eyes. "Famished."

* * *

"You don't make food much, do you?" Hwoarang said and scraped his bowl empty of the last crumbs.

Jin freed himself from meditating on the dirty dishes. "That bad?" he asked, startled.

Hwoarang faced him blankly. Then, he cracked a grin. "Just teasing," he said slyly.

Jin was disbelieving.

"I'm messing with ya. It was good."

Jin turned back to the offensive sink, hanging his head a little, scarcely suppressing a pleased look while looking adorably self-conscious at the same time. Hwoarang laughed silently, as Jin's admonishing glance failed to have an effect.

* * *

It was just like that throughout the evening: laid-back and comfortable. The uncertainty didn't start until it was time to go to bed. Not that Hwoarang hadn't thought about it, but the question was tangible—and imminently topical—as finished a light wash and ventured into the bedroom.

Jin had obviously been thinking about it, too. He was carefully avoidant. "I wasn't sure what you'd want to do. I can make a bed for myself in the other room."

Hwoarang scouted the room, but he wasn't about to idle on the cupboards or the walls. It was the double bed that drew his notice entirely. "No, same bed."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah," Hwoarang said. He felt good about this. "Which side is yours?"

"Either. Pick which you like."

Hwoarang claimed the right side with a proprietary air and went to spread the towel airily. He idled about a little, but then pulled and fluffed a pillow for himself and couldn't really think of anything else to do than duck under the covers and settle in.

Jin soon made to accompany him, impressive as ever in dark sweats—no shirt—but he remained on top of the covers. Glances were exchanged vacillatingly. They hemmed and hawed until Jin took the initiative. He crouched to Hwoarang, who rose sitting and pulled the pillows behind his back. On all fours, Jin snuck close and slowly leaned in for a kiss. He noticed Hwoarang's reluctance and altered his course: he landed kissing his neck.

Hwoarang wasn't against the kissing stuff as such; he just wasn't sure if they should be jumping at it straight away. He didn't react one way or the other; he didn't shake Jin off because his overtures weren't appreciated—they were appreciated—but he didn't initiate any himself because he couldn't be sure. He sat passively as Jin moved around his neck with care, kissing around the collarbone and anywhere he could find bare skin. He didn't resist when Jin pried his shirt apart and felt up his stomach. The response was visceral, but he crooned a little.

He let Jin roll up his shirt and pull it aside. Hwoarang soon realized Jin had barely started: with more of him exposed, Jin ventured to straddle him loosely and lunged to cherish his chest. The kisses were dallied across his chest hungrily, and they sent tingles of shivering to his brain. He could only take in the shining black locks and the clean scent, and found both very pleasurable. He reached a hand to brush against Jin to thank him, but Jin was too absorbed in his quest, and Hwoarang dropped his hand.

With Hwoarang's chest worked on hurriedly, Jin seemed to calm down. He paid a loving kiss on each side of his chest, but then proceeded to crawl down. His position couldn't have been comfortable, but he placed a diligent path of kisses along Hwoarang's washboard stomach. Apprehension settled only when Hwoarang realized Jin wasn't stopping.

Jin pried his mouth under the waistband, down south, and Hwoarang fidgeted. He wanted to call out Jin's name, but he was paralyzed. Jin stopped in his tracks and looked at him straight in the eye, all invitation and sex drive. The eyes were dark and daring, and yet, he was asking for permission.

"You don't have to do that," Hwoarang said hoarsely.

"I want to."

Jin moved a little further, still on all fours, and then settled fully on worshipping his midriff with caring pecks. This time, as he proceeded and ducked between Hwoarang's legs, he pulled the waistband down before his lips. More was exposed, until all was exposed. Hwoarang knew what was coming, but still he couldn't help it: as Jin took the tip of his penis between his lips, he promptly kicked Jin on the side.

_"Hmph."_

"Sorry, sorry!" Hwoarang shifted on his backside and dug his heels into the mattress. Jin gave him a preoccupied smile of sorts before lifting his shaft up and placing a kiss underneath it, still with a smile on his face. Then, Jin opened his mouth and engulfed him.

It was unsanitary; he would have washed it better if he had known... He should have said no, except it was too damn nice. Hwoarang gulped and licked his lips; he craned his head and didn't know which way to look. He ventured a peek but had to stop and forcibly keep himself from whinnying out loud, pleased. He could only take what was happening. He sat back and tried to wrap his head around the enormity of the fact that Jin Kazama was gently fellating him.

The heat began to descend from his face and trickle down. It passed his stomach with a tingly feel and rushed down into his thighs and culminated in-between. Jin was still working his length, somewhere between careful tugs, licks, and sucks. He was painfully hard, aroused-excited-embarrassed, and not far.

The heat scorched him with a flare. He barely had time to push Jin's head aside before the peak hit and sent his body vibrating. Jin fell on his legs, with a hand still warming his length, a slightly accusing look on his face. Yet, Jin took in his rapture with a collected look, all the while holding onto his length, still giving it light, periodic squeezes, looking at the pearly spread on his hands with a mix of dubiety and restrained satisfaction.

Hwoarang returned to the world after the most intense, blank-out-inducing orgasm he had had. All the anger and disappointment and anxiety had come together and blown his mind. It should have drained him, but instead of leaving him in a lazed state of daze, his senses had sharpened up with a warp. Jin had crawled to sit next to him, throwing uncertain looks to his feet, and he sensed Jin with uncanny acuteness. Without even bothering to tug himself in, he grabbed Jin by the shoulders and pinned him down on the mattress.

Jin's alarm cleared his head in an instant. No, what was he doing? Not like this. Never like this. Hwoarang willed his head straight and released Jin's shoulders like they burned, bracing himself against the mattress instead. Jin was still pinned down beneath him, but no longer trapped, and if he didn't want to stay there willingly, he would only have to rise. Hwoarang brushed a hand against Jin, surprising them both with his tenderness. He managed a smile, though the natural instinct was to give a mix of grin and smirk. Jin returned the smile shyly. Hwoarang rubbed at Jin's lips, indicating that they could have been a little cleaner, and then buried the prissy instinct and kissed Jin. To think what Jin had done without them even kissing was unbelievable.

He was met enthusiastically. Jin pulled him in with the kiss and bucked up quite innocently, squeezing him deliciously in the process. Hwoarang took an embarrassed second to make himself decent again, and then dove back to the kissing. He lay on top of Jin, who welcomed his body heat to mingle with his own, and motioned his mouth to fit over Jin's lips. Jin welcomed his mouth and accepted him in, and Hwoarang explored his mouth gently with his tongue. He had the heart to pry apart only when they had to come up for air, and a breath of air was all he could take before diving back. Though enthusiastic and lusty, he eventually had the heart to call a break and drop on the mattress. Jin turned automatically, and Hwoarang readily spooned him. He felt how their chests rose, slightly breathless and moist, and wiggled closer.

"I've been studying this... I think we did it wrong the first time," Hwoarang murmured in a low voice, savoring the feel of Jin against him. "Want to try it again?" _You don't have to._

Jin turned in his arms like a cogwheel and settled onto his back. "Yeah..."

"Yeah?" Hwoarang hated how hopeful he sounded, but at the same time, he held his breath for an answer. He didn't want Jin to do it just to please him, even if he wanted nothing more.

"Uh-huh." Jin ventured to look at him almost timidly, while Hwoarang could only lean over and settle their concurrence with a kiss.

* * *

It started a whole new ballgame; the fooling around and the kissing stuff suddenly changed into something more serious, more mature. They both felt the change and were charged with new vitality to couple with the want that hadn't flagged in the least.

His erection still hadn't waned. He couldn't expect the same of Jin, though, and he smuggled himself to sit on Jin loosely and snuggled a palm to feel around his front. He found the luscious curve. It pleased him, and he felt it through Jin's pants, flattered that Jin wasn't at all averse to what they had just agreed on; he was quite up for it. Hwoarang felt Jin's length through his pants, and going by how Jin panted or sucked in the middle of the kiss, Jin wasn't indifferent to his efforts.

Hwoarang picked himself up on all fours, giving Jin a chance to rise up on his elbows. Jin found himself in the exact same position as Hwoarang earlier—only now their positions had been reversed. He upped the stakes by gently prying between Jin's legs and leaned over for a kiss or few. His courtly modesty was quickly foiled, as Jin was determinedly depantsing him.

He felt the fingers touch his hips breezily and then his pants and underwear were pulled down and his erection bobbed free. He would have felt awkward at the quick exposure, except for the devoted hunger on Jin's face, which sparked even a flair of rivalry: he wasn't going to be second in who was more turned on. He knocked Jin down, even though the man was most reluctant to comply, and went to tug back Jin's waistband, mindful to give attention to Jin's length, which distended through his pants with a shining dark profile. With a kiss on Jin's lower abdomen, simultaneously feeling a feathery brush to his shoulder and reluctantly relinquishing his clothed hold, he unearthed Jin. Hwoarang gathered all the rag-tag clothes discarded on the bed, mashed them into a ball, and threw them out of the way from being an annoyance.

"On the floor, next to the bed," Jin said suddenly.

Hwoarang looked over the bed curiously and nearly fell over, trying to see better. He scrambled on his hands and felt Jin grab his legs to stop him from toppling over, and even then, stark naked and sprawled across Jin, he could see some humor in his present stance. He thought he heard a stifled sound, which didn't help his mirth one bit. Laughing, despite it all, he scooped a hand around the floor and landed it on a pile of wraps and a flask. He scooped the materials in his hand and scrambled up.

"Aw."

Hwoarang shot Jin a reproachful look. "Don't you start."

Jin merely looked back with polite interest, but even he couldn't help with twitch of his lips when Hwoarang reached to brush at his inner thigh, not-so-accidentally brushing his fingertips on his package as well, with the same knowing smirk on his face. Then Hwoarang quickly assessed the loot: rubbers and something to smooth the glide. He pushed them to wait on the sheets next to them.

"Right you are," he said and smacked Jin's thighs. "Up, baby."

"Hm?" Jin raised himself anyway and lifted up into a better position.

"I think you should be on your knees."

Jin looked uneasy.

"Just until I get it in."

Jin hesitated, but he did fulfill his wish eventually and scramble up on all fours. Hwoarang saw how Jin psyched up, but the hesitation didn't die: Jin threw a worried look back.

"Trust me. Please?" Hwoarang rubbed at Jin's thigh appealingly.

Jin looked blue, but he couldn't refuse such a request. He nodded and faced the headboard.

He could understand Jin's unease: it seemed very animalistic and, to Jin, probably like he wasn't appreciated very much, when the opposite was the true. Hwoarang wavered a little, but he chose not to break the moment and settled on petting Jin's buttock comfortingly. He picked one of the foils... and hesitated. Did they really need these things? He did consider asking how Jin felt about it, but Jin had already gotten the things. He proceeded to open the foil and don one with care. He was glad his shaft had proven immune against delays, and he patted it in thanks.

Hwoarang picked up the bottle and uncapped the cork, delighting in passing in the pleasant whiff of the smell it gave. The cool tingled on the tips of his fingers. "I'll work you a little?" It would have been so much more comfortable to have Jin read his mind rather than have to ask. He made a mental note to perfect their telepathy.

"If it's the same to you, just do it. Slowly."

The same to him? More like a mouth-watering fantasy come true. Hwoarang kissed Jin's lower back fiercely, and felt Jin relax in turn, even if only by a margin. Gently, he parted Jin's legs for more room and caressed his inner thighs. Hwoarang took a moment to coat the tip of his erection and dab some wetness onto Jin, without indulging in additional finger play. He leaned over to kiss along Jin's spine, even finishing with quick pecks below the waistline. Then he grabbed his erection, gave it a few hearty strokes to keep it in the game, and inched closer. "All right... let's do it."

* * *

"How is it?"

"It doesn't hurt." Jin sounded surprised himself... and joyful.

The hurry died; he was doing it right.

Hwoarang murmured, "Good." Their conjoined pace stilled for a moment as he fit Jin tightly against his chest. Side by side, their bodies formed into a lazy S. Hwoarang rose carefully and leaned over to capture Jin's mouth. Jin, though clearly still amazed by the flexibility their new position allowed, reciprocated more than enthusiastically. When Hwoarang finally had the heart to resume, Jin was virtually sighing. Hwoarang, in turn, smiled into Jin's hair and finally found the skill to give Jin's length some much needed attention, in harmony with his own movements.

He remembered all too well how the last time had ended. But this time, as the peak hit, he had never felt so awake. There was no gray; the high tide was bright and shining instead. Hwoarang hugged Jin close to his chest and breathed into his neck, kissing it. He even laughed to himself when the satisfaction plateaued. He then moved to disentangle himself, attentive of Jin's comfort, relishing the heave of Jin's chest as they finally came apart, though he couldn't help pressing up close, on the wane or not. As his own breathing calmed down, he moved his hand and stroked Jin to perfection.

* * *

There was some fumbling and tumbling before they could settle down. Getting up, running into each other. Feeling giddy and dizzy and endlessly elated. They eventually managed to call it a night, and Hwoarang spooned Jin.

Jin fell asleep quickly enough; Hwoarang remained awake a little longer, even though he was just as tired. Listening to the even breathing, he snuggled to Jin a little tighter and reveled in the feeling that the world was perfect.

* * *

**Vast thanks** to **Gypsie** for the proofreading!

**Published** July 17, 2010.


	15. Intimate Rivals, M

Welcome to the conclusion of Intimate Rivals.

**This chapter features romance at M rating.**

* * *

**Chapter 15: Intimate Rivals**

"Marsupial."

"A what?"

"Marsupial," Jin repeated.

_Mars-yupial? ...Mar-supial?_ Hwoarang tried to sound it out in his head. _Mars—?_ "That can't be right," he muttered. The frown on his face persisted until he joined Jin's amused chuckling with a shake of his head. He was in bed with Jin, after he had gone to bed with Jin, and they were discussing freaking pouch animals? It felt good in a way he couldn't quite put into words. "Did you like Australia?"

Jin smiled a little sadly. "I didn't socialize that much." He had gone to the koala sanctuary in the beginning and held an incredibly fluffy koala in his hands. Beyond that, there had been little to distract him from his purpose. The pleasant memory wanted to be shared. "I held a koala once."

Hwoarang cracked smile; he couldn't help it. "A koala?"

"A koala," Jin confirmed solemnly.

A koala. Jin had held one, and now they were discussing koalas, which probably were mars-yupials, too, with his luck. Hwoarang couldn't help smiling as he burrowed deeper into the clean bed and let out a contented sigh.

Jin crept up closer and ran a hand lightly across Hwoarang's back. He received an appreciative murmur. "Hwoarang, last night, when you said that you've been 'studying' it, what did you mean?"

Hwoarang was caught off guard; Jin had the ability to floor him. The man was alert, too. He hadn't meant to let it slip; not that the admission wasn't true, but he figured it would have been more stylish to keep some pieces of information to himself. He scrambled up and finally managed, "I looked at some information sites."

"What information sites?" Jin was suddenly stern. "You mean porn?"

God, please, if it only had been porn. He wouldn't have minded admitting as much, but no, it hadn't been porn. "No...," Hwoarang said and found himself garnering a flush already. "Information sites, like, sites that have advice and all..." Yeah, flush. Definitely. He should've known how to do it without the goddamn Internet.

Jin scrutinized him and ended in a genuine smile. Hwoarang was slightly awkward still, but Jin skimmed fingertips on his chest. The warmth shone off him, and Hwoarang knew they were all right.

* * *

They had made a mess together. In the heat of the night and the novelty of it all, they hadn't made much of it at first, but they had both been sheepish enough in the morning. The morning, then, had gone to running around naked because neither seemed willing to get dressed first and both had wanted to look... They had changed the sheets together, casting shy glances at each other's genitals. By morning meal, they had made a sport of it and continued the nudity parade by mutual agreement thereafter. Hwoarang had thrown himself on his stomach and Jin draped the sheets deliciously across his lap for appearances.

* * *

As Hwoarang settled back down, Jin returned to caressing his back. When no protest came, his hand drifted lower and brushed across Hwoarang's ass.

"Mmm..." Hwoarang settled more comfortably and reached a hand in to fondle Jin under the covers.

Jin smiled a little and kept touching the buttocks affectionately. The skin felt velvety to his fingertips and palm, the muscles firm, and their feel pleasing. His hand kept brushing the cheeks lazily on its own volition.

"Liking it?" Hwoarang finally muttered. "With the way— HEY!" He shot up and glared at Jin, who grinned impishly back at him. That had been invasive.

He was lying there stark naked, in his partner's bed, his ass up in the air, and the man dare court. That Jin was thinking about sex, had the nerve and ability to want any after last night's pounding, was highly offensive, and Hwoarang told him so.

"I am very sore." Jin was conciliatory... and exuded guile. "That's why I'm thinking... the other way."

"No. No way!" Hwoarang thought quickly. "You're too big."

Unfortunately, Jin's self-esteem held the blow; he grinned. "Nice try."

Jin made no move to remove his hand from Hwoarang's ass; instead, he kept the fondling going, coupled with an appealing look. Hwoarang fidgeted nervously; Jin was right to ask for it. Of course Jin wanted to do it, too. It was fucking nice... He didn't want to admit to himself that he was scared to death of it. He wasn't ready. "I don't think I can. Not yet," he admitted painfully.

Jin looked saddened, but not mad. It showed that he would have liked another answer, but he embraced his fate placidly. He gave a lingering pet along Hwoarang's buttocks and moved on to caress his back.

Hwoarang, in turn, hesitated slightly before pulling his hand out from under the covers. He fondled Jin through the front so that the linen bundled in his fist. "Is it okay?"

Jin tempered his worry with a graceful smile and a bow of his head. "It's okay," he said reassuringly.

Hwoarang squeezed his package thankfully; he could feel the upbeat mood picking up again already. Hwoarang opened his fist and massaged Jin gently with his palm. Covert smiles were exchanged.

"Can we at least do this?" Jin suggested. He opened his legs into a V and patted his thighs.

Hwoarang looked at him suspiciously.

"I'm not going to do anything. Come on."

Hwoarang couldn't shake the suspicion, but Jin waited for him invitingly. Slowly, Hwoarang picked himself up from the bed; first on all fours, then crawled on his knees and in his glory next to Jin. Jin, in turn, flung the sheet aside and bared himself. Hwoarang found fitting himself between Jin's legs a moderately sensitive task. The position would have felt personal with their clothes on, but it was past intimate now. Hwoarang sat in front, not quite touching Jin yet, save the accidental brush. Jin drew him in, little by little, until his back rested against Jin's chest. It took getting used to, but Hwoarang finally relaxed against Jin. "I'm not squishing anything important, am I?"

Jin grimaced. "Hold on. And don't lie too heavily."

Hwoarang grinned to himself. He felt Jin's fingers against his back, as Jin adjusted himself, but then Jin scooped him up in his arms and hugged him against to his chest.

The instinct was to bristle, but the full-body embrace was compelling. Being held like that was incredible. Hwoarang couldn't forcibly relax himself, but the patient hold persisted until he finally caved in and pressed against Jin languidly. Jin snuggled up to him, arms around him, thigh against thigh, and held on.

Jin began massaging his stomach. After the subtle start, the arcs drawn on Hwoarang's stomach grew wider, and the sweeps reached across his chest, even taking a plunge below the navel in promise. Hwoarang sighed and sank further into Jin. Jin breathed into his neck. "I haven't done this on you yet." He scouted all the way down until he ran a thumb all the way along Hwoarang's length.

"No, you haven't," Hwoarang agreed, and Jin grabbed his length in hand.

He manipulated it gently before scooping a hand underneath, exploring along the shaft and sac, holding one in his hand while teasing the other between his fingers. Jin touched a line along Hwoarang's face, half-nuzzling and half-kissing, until Hwoarang turned his head and Jin reached the lips. He kissed Hwoarang lightly, respectfully. Desiringly. And he then kissed more assertively, as Hwoarang was keen to respond. He cuddled Hwoarang again, mindful to keep up the squeeze that made Hwoarang hot all over. Jin moved on to full-fledged strokes, but seemed to hesitate.

"You're doing good. Just squeeze it."

Jin curled his fist into place more firmly. Hwoarang nearly threshed against Jin, fully aware how Jin felt his reactions just as intimately, but Jin took his reactions without faltering, without once abandoning the gentle kisses and murmurs. The long, snuggly strokes were driving him to the edge. Just as the climax approached, Hwoarang covered Jin's hand with his, and they shared in the peak.

As Hwoarang calmed down, he came to realize that the mess situation hadn't been solved at all. They really needed tissues by the bed, badly. Jeesh, this was uncomfortable. "Erm..."

Jin refused to make a fuss. He didn't want to move, and they made do as best as they could. Jin moved his hand to his midriff, and the hurry to leave waned away. Hwoarang pulled up the covers to make himself decent and keep them both a hint warmer. He stretched out contently; Jin lazed back as much.

"Hwoarang," Jin said, and Hwoarang immediately knew to be alert. Jin didn't use his name unless it was something important.

"Yeah?"

"I have to be here," Jin started. "I can't leave, with the company. I have to be here for it, at least for a while. I wouldn't ask you to do it if I could go myself, but I was wondering... Would you come here? Stay a while?"

_Live here?_

Jin was breathing faster; Hwoarang felt his chest rise on an impulse, with a faint suggestion of anxiety. "You don't have to say anything right away, but I-I'd very much like you to come." Now, the nervousness had crept to Jin's voice. He embraced Hwoarang more securely.

Come here; make something of it? What was holding him back? The lack of a vision of a life after the tournament had been uncomfortable, and he had readily found ways to keep it off his mind. Hwoarang shifted, but Jin didn't want him to go. The vision took form: Jin didn't want him to go.

He felt like a million. The words came easily as he said, "Yeah. I guess I could stay a while."

**THE END**

* * *

**Concluding Notes and Round of Thanks**

So concludes this story. It is time to give my compliments to everyone who has taken interest in this story. It's been a good ride, and I extend my cordial thanks for your support and attention. Everyone's been civil—thanks for that.

**First and foremost thanks** go to **Gypsie** for proofreading the entire story. I'm not oblivious to the enormous effort that this fic has been for you, too, and I thank you for having let me monopolize your time shamelessly. You are one in a million.

Enormous thanks to those who have followed the story through its entire run and commented along the way: **Amarant Rose Coral**,** Razer Athane**, **HappyMe-O**, **deb(dot)lemon**,** redeyedcat**, and **rockyBubbles**. I wouldn't have made it without you. Amarant and Razey, I hope you enjoyed; this story was for you. HappyMe-O, your support is unwavering. Red, your reviews are placed in the pride of place. deb (sorry about the spelling; the site thinks your name is a web address and censors it) and Roxie, thanks. Special commendations to **XNightLadyX** and **HeartfulPeach**!

**HOIME G**, **CrazyCartSalad**, **Fantony**, **Ninyria**, **xCamilleon**, and** Anonymous**—thanks!

Thanks go out to **ShiniBarton**, **x GigaByte x**, **Silverywolf**, **TanithLipsky**, **Kiwasaki-chan3**, **Eleanor Roseclear**, **blaqueTokio**, **Hewigkeit**, **vdaymassacre**, **Rose**, **Chantal du Lac**, **Lua Prateada**, **The Angel of Malice and Mizery**, **Tawny The Disturbed**, **wellhellothere**, and **TenaciousKisses** for dropping by.

I thank everyone else for the kind interest and the favorable attention along the way! Let's not be coy: it has been fun to write a story that has an audience. A personal point of pride to me has been that this story has had a diverse readership and readers from both sexes. _Parenthetically: _Don't go clicking on the reviewers' profiles now. You don't have the data I do.

Make my day and let me know if the story caught your eye. If you are tired today, another time, perhaps? It would mean a lot.

* * *

**Published** September 21, 2010.

Intimate Rivals © Copyright 2008–2010 Salysha

The story of Jin and Hwoarang continues in **Estranged Equals** (published 12/18/2010).


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